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Ex  ICthrtja 


SEYMOUR    DURST 


"t '  'Tort  nietuu    lAm/lerdam,  oj?  Je  M<rnha,tarus 


When  you  leave,  please  leave  this  book 

Because  it  has  been  said 
"Sver'thing  comes  t'  him  who  waits 

Except  a  loaned  book." 


^ 


fiAJr^h^ 


4 


Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/fromkillarneytonOOcusa_0 


from: 
KILLAMEY  TO  NEW  YORK ; 


OB, 


HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER. 


BY 


SISTER  MARY  FRANCIS  CLARE, 


(THE  NUN  OF  KENMARE.) 


A  Story  of  Eeal  Life. 


FR.  PUSTET  &  CO., 
'New  York  and  Cincinnati. 


p/v 


PREFACE. 

This  tale  was  written  by  Sister  Mary  Francis  Clare,  the  illustri- 
ous Nun  of  Kenmare,  at  the  request  of  the  publisher  of  McGee's 
Illustrated  Weekly,  to  typify  an  incident  in  Irish-American 
life,  which,  though  by  no  means  unusual,  can  hardly  be  credited, 
except  by  those  who  have  specially  devoted  their  attention  to  the 
peculiarities  of  Irish  life,  and  to  its  rapid,  and  generally  success- 
ful, development  under  the  genial  influence  of  American  institu- 
tions and  customs. 

'the  readers  are  assured  that  the  main  incidents  of  the  tale  are 
drawn  from  actual  life;  the  moral  can  be  applied  by  themselves. 

N?w  York,  1877. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  I. 
Chapter  II. 
Chapter  III. 
Chapter  IV. 
Chapter  V. 
Chapter  VI. 
Chapter  VII. 
Chapter  VIII. 


Chapter  I. 
Chapter  II. 
Chapter  III. 
Chapter  IV. 
Chapter  V. 
Chapter  Vv. 
Chapter  VII. 
Chapter  VIII. 
Chapter  IX. 
Chapter  X. 


PART  FIRST. 

Page. 

Tim  O'Halloran's  Choice / 

Father  James 14 

How  Thade  was  Lost  and  Found 19 

The  Blanders  Family  at  Home  25 

Ellen  Maloney's  Conversion 29 

Back  at  the  Hall-Door 33 

In  the  Police  Court 41 

Three  Letters 48 

PART  SECOND. 

Where  am  I  Going  ?  58 

Blood-Guiltiness 64 

Thade 72 

Not  all  Smooth  Water 77 

The  Tempter  Again 82 

Rosaline 87 

Thade's  Choice 91 

"  The  Boy's  Honest,  after  all" 97 

Thade  finds  New  Friends 101 

Ten  Years  Later 104 


FROM 


Killarney  to  New  York; 


OR, 


HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TIM  O'HALLORAN'S  CHOICE. 

**  Tis  but  a  step,  down  yonder  lane, 
And  the  little  church  stands  near  ; 
The  church  where  we  were  wed,  Mary, 
I  see  its  spire  from  here." 

The  Countess  of  Gifford. 

"Well,  I  give  you  your  choice,  my  good  man;  if  you  don't 
care  for  yourself,  care  for  your  boy.  The  society  which  I  repre- 
sent will  undertake  to  feed,  clothe  and  educate  him  the  moment 
you  " — the  speaker  paused.  The  grey  shades  of  death  were  set- 
tling down  in  all  the  awfulness  of  that  time  when  famine  was  the 
slayer  of  thousands ;  but  there  was  a  fine  scorn  on  the  face  of  the 
dying  man — a  scorn  which  even  an  angelic  being  might  have  ex- 
pressed if  tempted  by  Lucifer  to  exchange  heaven  for  earth. 

The  little  flame  of  life  was  flickering  in  the  frail  socket  of 
humanity,  but  it  flashed  up  into  a  blaze  as  the  devil  offered  his 
bait. 


8  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

"And  that's  your  religion,"  replied  honest  Tim:  "you  know 
I  am  dying  and  you  want  me  to  face  God  Almighty  with  a 
thundering  lie  these  mountains  wouldn't  cover, "  and  his  trem- 
bling finger  pointed  to  the  glowing  rocks,  now  purpled  with  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  "  Before  the  light  shines  on  poor 
old  Ireland  again  I'll  be  where  there  is  no  sun  but  Almighty 
God  Himself — glory  be  to  His  name  ! — and  His  blessed  Mother 
Mary." 

"Oh,"  interrupted  the  Bible-reader,  "  if  it's  the  Virgin  Mary 
you're  trusting  to,  I  pity  you.  Why,  my  good  man,  will  you  be 
so  foolish  ?  I  promise  you  to  provide  for  this  boy.  I  promise 
you  to — a — in  fact,  to  make  a  gentleman  of  him.  But  really  I 
must  beg  of  you  to  consider  in  your  last  moments  how  foolish 
you  are  to  be  putting  your  trust  in  a  mere  woman.  Why,  how 
do  you  know  that  the  blessed  Virgin,  as  you  call  her,  is  in 
heaven?" 

"  Htow  do  I  know  !"  exclaimed  the  dying  man,  and  for  a 
moment  a  shade  of  the  rare  wit  flickered  up — the  wit  that  had 
made  Tim  O'Halloran  famous  at  fair  and  pattern  for  years; 
"  oh,  then,  sure  it's  the  quare  son  that  would  let  his  mother  be  in 
the  bad  place  when  he  had  the  power  to  keep  her  out  of  it;  and 
ye  say  yourselves  there's  no  other  place  but  heaven;  so  where 
would  the  Mother  of  God  be  ? " 

Mr.  Blanders  was  well  used  to  meeting  his  match  in  arguments 
with  the  Irish  peasantry,  so  he  was  not  particularly  disconcerted 
by  Tim's  home-thrust.  His  arguments  were  golden;  but  they 
had  not  been  by  any  means  as  effectual  as  he  could  have  desired. 
With  him  it  was  simply  a  matter  of  money.  His  own  religious 
convictions — if  such  convictions  could  be  called  religious — were 
simply  that  one  religion  is  as  good  as  another,  but  that  money 
was  a  tangible  possession  very  desirable  in  this  world,  whatever 
it  might  be  in  the  next.  He  pitied  these  poor  people  in  a  dull, 
stupid  sort  of  way,  much  as  a  man  might  pity  a  poor  savage 
who  was  offered  gold  and  flung  it  from  him,  not  knowing  its 
value.  He  had,  indeed,  at  times,  a  hazy  idea  that  the  Irish  knew 
the  value   of  money  very  well,  but  that  there  was  something 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME   A  BANKER.  9 

which  they  preferred  to  it,  which  they  called  conscience,  and 
which  he  called  obstinacy.  One  thing,  however,  was  certain — 
he  was  bound  to  get  converts.  Converts  meant  money  to  him. 
They  were  prized  in  the  English  soul-market  at  so  much  per  head. 
At  one  time,  indeed,  they  were  so  estimated,  but  then  the 
head  was  for  the  halter,  and  there  was  little  gain  to  be  had 
by  those  who  secured  the  prize.  Now  times  and  customs  were 
changed,  and  the  devil  was  quite  ready  to  accommodate  his 
temptations  to  the  advancement  of  civilization. 

But  if  the  temptation  was  altered,  the  cruelty  was  not  lessened. 
To  hang  a  man  out  of  hand  for  his  religion  was  merciful  com- 
pared with  the  diabolical  cruelty  of  standing  beside  him  with 
bread  and  gold  while  he  was  dying  inch  by  inch  of  starvation. 
The  heathen  invention  of  the  torture  of  Tantalus  was  as  a  pun- 
ishment for  crime.  It  remained  for  the  Bible-loving  zealots  of  the 
nineteenth  century  to  invent  another  torture  for  the  bodies  and 
souls  of  the  ever-faithful  Irish  race. 

The  after-glow  had  passed;  the  last  ray  of  sunlight  had  shot 
down  behind  the  distant  mountains.  The  cold  grey  of  evening 
was  fast  settling  into  the  gloom  of  night,  a  little  silver  streak  of 
light  still  being  visible  in  the  far  depths  of  heaven,  and  one  little 
clear  twinkling  star,  and  still  the  tempting  fiend  was  there. 

The  white-winged  angels  came  and  went  with  messages  from 
the  Throne,  and  the  Angel  of  Death  hovered  very  close  to  the 
departing  athlete.  He  waited  till  the  victory  was  perfected,  till 
the  crown  was  won,  till  the  power  of  soul  and  conscience  had  tri- 
umphed in  the  face  of  the  very  weakness  of  death.  Moments  now 
were  indeed  golden,  as  the  sands  of  life  trembled  in  the  hour-glass 
of  time.  Moments  were  being  weighed  against  eternity.  Sec- 
onds were  being  counted  against  centuries.  But  there  was  no 
sign  of  weakness  of  soul  in  all  the  weakness  of  body.  With 
every  passing  moment  the  angels  rejoiced;  with  every  passing 
moment  the  demons  scowled  their  hate  and  despair.  And  still 
the  tempter-fiend  lingered. 

That  very  day  Mr.  Blanders  had  received  a  letter  from  his 
English  employers,  informing  him  of  their  extreme  disgust  at  the 


IO  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO   NEW  YORK; 

failure  of  his  mission.  They  had,  they  said,  treated  him  with 
confidence ;  they  had  supplied  him  with  unlimited  gold,  and  the 
result  had  not  been  what  they  expected.  The  fault  clearly  must 
be  his,  he  had  not  used  sufficient  efforts  to  secure  converts. 

Reasoning  from  their  own  point  of  view  these  good  people  were 
right.  They  looked  on  an  Irish  Catholic  very  much  as  they  would 
have  looked  on  a  Pagan.  They  had  themselves  no  chobe  about 
religion  so  long  as  it  was  not  "  Popish. "  If  they  had  needed 
wealth,  and  had  been  offered  it  on  condition  that  they  should  ac- 
cept any  form  of  opinion,  no  matter  how  different  from  that  which 
they  held  at  the  moment,  they  would  not  have  hesitated  in  their 
choice.  They  could  not,  then,  understand  why  those  "  ignorant 
Irish' '  could  have  any  choice — why,  when  they  were  dying  of 
starvation,  they  should  prefer  death  to  violating  their  consciences. 
But,  notwithstanding  their  wonder,  the  fact  remained  the  same, 
and  they  naturally  blamed  the  person  whom  they  employed  to 
effect  the  attainment  of  an  end  which,  to  them,  would  have 
seemed  so  easy  and  so  desirable. 

Mrs.  Blanders  had  read  the  letter.  Mr.  Blanders  had  a  very 
wholesome  awe  of  that  estimable  individual.  Mrs.  Blanders  had 
used  some  very  plain  and  very  emphatic  language  that  morning. 
Mrs.  Blanders  had  advised  the  partner  of  her  joys  and  sorrows 
not  to  return  to  the  domestic  roof-tree  until  he  had  "  done  some- 
thing," and  Mr.  Blanders,  model  husband  that  he  was,  had  a 
habit  of  taking  his  wife's  advice. 

The  letter  which  had  caused  this  commotion  in  the  Blanders 
family  had  intimated  that  there  was  to  be  a  great  public  meeting 
in  one  month  from  that  day,  in  Exeter  Hall,  London,  and  that 
some  thoroughly  striking  death-bed  conversions  from  the  errors 
of  Popery  were  wanted,  and  must  be  forthcoming.  It  was  hard, 
indeed,  that  it  should  be  so  difficult  to  procure,  when  so  large  a 
sum  of  money  was  offered  for  it.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  an  Irish 
conscience  was  the  only  thing  which  could  not  be  purchased  with 
English  gold,  and  the  desired  merchandise  was  appreciated  ac- 
cordingly. 

If  a  soul  could  not  be  purchased,  a  child  could  be  rescued  from 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  II 

"  Popery,* y  and  this,  at  least,  ought  not  to  be  so  difficult  of  accom- 
plishment. 

Mrs.  Blanders  had  some  views  of  her  own  on  this  matter,  as 
she  said,  "if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst."  She  had  some 
needy  nephews  and  nieces.  Could  not  one  of  them  be  purchased 
as  a  sop  to  the  Cerberus  of  English  greed  for  Catholic  souls  ?  One 
great  principle  of  the  society  was  to  ask  no  questions.  Questions 
were  inconvenient.  Besides,  there  was  a  large  staff  of  officials  in 
England,  connected  with  the  society,  whose  income  depended  on 
"something  being  done,"  and  if  a  child  was  snatched  as  "a 
brand  from  the  burning,"  no  very  particular  inquiries  would  be 
made  as  to  who  the  child  was. 

Mrs.  Blanders  said  to  herself  "  she  would  see  "  what  could  be 
done.  But  she  had  her  doubts  as  to  the  treatment  the  poor  child- 
ren received.  Some  ugly  stories  of  neglect  and  cruelty  had  oozed 
out,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  subject  any  of  her  own  kith  and  kin 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  soul-destroyers  if  she  could  help  it. 
And  she  was  a  woman  who  generally  did  "help  "  what  she  chose 
to  happen. 

Mr.  Blanders'  forte  was  not  argument.  He  had  been  on  the 
"  Home  Mission,"  as  his  miserable  calling  was  designated,  too 
long  to  have  any  doubt  about  the  sincerity  and  piety  of  the  Irish 
people.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that  they  did  not  worship  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  as  his  English  patrons  chose  to  assert.  He  knew 
very  well  that  they  did  not  believe  that  the  priest  could  give 
them  absolution  beforehand  for  the  sins  they  intended  to  commit. 
Indeed,  the  failure  of  his  own  mission  was  one  of  the  best  proofs 
of  the  blackness  of  this  favorite  calumny.  Here  were  men  all 
around  him  dying  of  starvation ;  and  if  the  priest  could  give  them 
absolution  for  a  future  crime,  or  leave  to  commit  a  sin  for  so 
•much  money,  why  did  they  die  of  starvation,  or  live  on  a  long, 
lingering  agony,  when  they  could  so  easily  have  obtained  relief? 

Tim  O'Halloran  was  not  actually  dying  of  starvation — he  was 
dying  of  famine-fever.  He  rented  a  large  farm,  and  had  been  a 
prosperous  man  in  his  day.  When  he  brought  his  young  wife 
home,  eight  years  ago,  she  was  the  envy  of  many  a  lass  around 


12  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

Loch  Lein,  for  she  had  secured  the  best  match  in  the  barony. 
The  farm  was  well  worked ;  there  were  rich,  ripening  fields  of 
grain,  fair  meadows,  where  the  Kerry  cow  chewed  the  cud  and 
gave  rich  milk  in  abundance,  as  the  farm-girl  sang  to  her  in  the 
dear  old  Celtic  tongue.  The  potato  had  been  an  abundant 
crop,  and  as  sweet  as  Irish  potatoes  were  until  the  blight  came, 
which  seems  to  have  altered  even  the  very  nature  of  the  root. 

But  now  all  was  changed,  There  were  fields  of  untouched, 
withered  stalks  rotting  in  the  winter  frost.  The  kine  had  long 
since  disappeared  from  the  fair,  green  meadows.  Tim  O' Hallo- 
ran  was  not  the  man  to  store  his  worldly  goods  when  neighbors 
and  friends  were  dying  for  need  of  them. 

A  strong  man  takes  long  to  die.  The  Scripture-reader  still 
stood  his  ground.  While  there  was  life  there  was  hope.  If  he 
could  only  get  one  word  of  assent  his  purpose  would  be  accom- 
plished; and  if  he  could  not  get  that  word — well,  he  would  see. 

Tim  O'Halloran  turned  his  dying  gaze  on  the  wretched  in- 
truder. Even  in  his  death  agony  the  native  courtesy  could  not 
forsake  him  quite. 

"  I  fear  you're  losing  time,  sir,"  he  murmured,  faintly;  "the 
priest  will  be  here  soon,  and  the  priest  will  care  for  the  boy." 

But  even  as  he  said  the  words  of  hope,  the  heart  of  the  dying 
man  was  sore  with  apprehensions.  His  little  Thade,  his  boy, 
his  treasure,  his  fair-haired  lad,  with  the  laughing  eye  of  the 
mother  that  was  gone,  and  the  winsome  way  of  the  wife  that 
never  saw  the  anniversary  of  her  wedding-day. 

His  little  Thade.  The  boy  lay  sleeping  heavily,  wearily,  on 
the  same  straw  on  which  his  father  lay  dying.  Poor  little  lad  ! 
he  had  been  nurse  and  comforter  to  his  poor  father  for  weeks 
now,  faithful,  untiring,  with  a  rare  thought  and  care  beyond  his 
years.  There  was  none  else  to  do  the  little  that  could  be  done, 
save  Granny  O'Halloran,  the  aged  grandmother,  who  lived  on, 
as  old  folks  do,  through  many  a  hard  struggle,  when  the  young 
fall  down  and  die  by  the  wayside. 

Granny  was  sleeping,  too,  in  an  inner  room.  In  the  early 
hours  of  that  day  both  had  realized,  for  the  first  time,  that  father 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME   A  BANKER.  13 

must  die.  Father  James  had  been  there,  and  said  what  words  he 
could  of  comfort,  and  had  given  that  which  was  beyond  all 
earthly  comfort. 

Mr.  Blanders  started  for  a  moment  when  he  heard  the  priest  was 
coming.  He  had  had  some  encounters  with  that  gentleman,  in 
which  he  had  come  off  second  best,  and  he  was  not  anxious  to 
meet  him  at  such  a  time  and  in  such  a  place.  But  the  case  was 
desperate,  and  the  most  timid  men  do  desperate  deeds  when  they 
are  between  two  fires.  Mr.  Blanders  thought  of  Mrs.  Blanders 
— and  waited.  Of  the  father  manifestly  there  was  no  hope ;  by 
some  means,  fair  or  foul,  he  must  get  the  child. 

He  remembered  Thade,  and  knew  what  he  would  be  worth, 
with  good  food  and  care.  He  was  a  child  of  much  intelligence 
and  of  fair  presence;  he  was,  in  fact,  just  the  very  child  the  so- 
ciety would  prize.  Mr.  Blanders  had  not  decided  on  any  definite 
plan  of  action  for  securing  his  prey,  but  he  had  great  faith  in 
waiting. 


14  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 


CHAPTER  II. 

FATHER    JAMES. 

Who,  in  the  winter's  night, 

Soggarth  aroon, 
When  the  cold  blast  did  bite, 

Soggarth  aroon, 
Came  to  my  cabin  door, 
And,  on  ray  earthen  floor, 
Knelt  by  me,  sick  and  poor, 

Soggarth  aroon.  Banim. 

A  man  of  stately  presence  and  of  a  native  dignity  all  his  own. 
Care,  and  starvation,  and  heart-agony  had  bent  the  noble  form, 
had  furrowed  the  open  brow,  and  had  added  a  touching,  an  al- 
most beseeching  pathos  to  the  dignity.  How  could  he  see  his 
-children  dying  of  hunger,  and  not  share  with  them  all  but  what 
was  necessary  to  keep  the  frail  scabbard  of  the  body  together,  so 
that  the  soul  might  remain  to  do  his  Master's  work  a  little  longer. 

It  was  the  Feast  of  the  Expectation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and 
the  whole  church  was  crying  out,  with  her,  for  the  coming  Deliv- 
erer. He  had  said  mass  that  morning  with  trembling  hands 
and  breaking  heart.  With  what  tears,  with  what  prayers,  he 
had  cried  out  for  his  flock:  "  Come,  O  Lord  !  come  and  deliver 
them."  There  were  worse  evils  than  death  to  be  feared  for 
them.     Happy,  indeed,  were  the  dead  ! 

Bands  of  men  had  been  parading  the  streets  of  the  neighbor- 
ing town  the  day  previous,  demanding  food  and  threatening  vio- 
lence. Who  could  blame  them  ?  Yet  such  open  acts  of  vio- 
lence   were    rare,  and    were  more  frequently  inaugurated   by 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  15 

those  who  were  in  comparative  comfort  than  by  the  patient  suf- 
ferers who  were  almost  past  all  power  of  complaint. 

Heartrending  scenes  had  come  before  him.  He  had  found  a 
poor  mother  on  the  roadside,  almost  unconscious,  with  a  dead 
babe  in  her  arms  and  a  dead  child  clinging  to  her  skirts.  She 
was  just  so  far  on  her  road  to  tfoe  poor-house  when  she  fell  in- 
sensible, and  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of  the  priest  she  had  died 
as  she  lay. 

He  had  been  in  a  house  where  comfort  and  plenty  once 
reigned,  and  there  he  had  found  the  living  and  the  dead  lying 
together  on  the  same  bed  of  straw  and  covered  with  a  piece  of 
old  baize  that  had  once  been  a  table-cover.  Yet  everywhere 
amongst  these  martyr  people  there  was  an  inconceivable  patience, 
a  supernatural  charity,  a  sanctity  altogether  divine.  And,  in 
truth,  such  patience  and  such  charity  could  not  be  other  than  di- 
vine, for  the  grace  of  God  alone  could  have  conferred  it. 

Father  James  had  administered  the  last  rites  of  the  Church 
that  morning,  as  we  have  said,  to  Tim  O'Halloran.  The  limbs 
that  were  to  move  no  more  on  earth  were  sealed  and  signed  as 
the  Christian's  own  possession  and  property  in  heaven.  Their 
last  weariness  was  nearly  over;  their  last  pain  and  ache  was  well 
nigh  passed.  All  the  suffering  here  was  soon  to  meet  with  its 
rich  reward  on  the  golden  shore. 

But  Father  James  had  heard  Tim's  anxious  prayer  about  his 
boy.  The  brave  man  gladly  faced  death  and  bravely  suffered 
pain,  but  the  great  tears  rolled  down  his  poor  pinched  cheeks  as 
he  spoke  of  Thade.        * 

What  was  to  become  of  him  ?  The  poor  old  granny  had  half 
lost  her  wits  from  age,  privation  and  grief.  The  neighbors  were 
scarce  able  to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  though  more  than 
one  of  them,  with  unfailing  Irish  charity,  had  offered  to  take  care 
of  the  little  lad. 

Only  the  great  and  good  priest  could  realize  how  hard  Tim's 
death-bed  trial  was.  Only  God  knew  how  gloriously  his  faith 
triumphed  over  his  fears. 

What  could  the  priest  say  ?     Thade  was  one  of  hundreds  of 


1 6  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

orphans.  He  could  do  nothing;  at  best  he  could  but  try  to  see 
him  safe  in  the  poor-house — that  miserable  substitute  for  the  old 
monastic  houses,  where  the  poor  found  all  their  wants  supplied 
by  loving  and  tender  hands — the  poor-houses,  lor  which  the  poor 
have  to  thank  the  licentious  monster,  Henry  VIII. — the  poor- 
houses,  which  even  the  English  Protestant  poor  so  dread  that 
they  often  die  in  the  utmost  misery  sooner  than  face  its  horrors. 

So  the  only  prospect  for  Thade  was  as  dark  as  dark  could  be. 

Father  James  knew,  too,  that  the  "  soupers  "  had  their  eye  on 
him,  but  he  did  not  know  all  that  we  do,  or  he  would  have  had 
a  sharp  lookout  after  the  proceedings  of  these  worthies. 

Still  he  was  anxious,  and  he  determined  to  seeO'Halloran  that 
evening  again,  fearing,  indeed,  that  in  the  morning  he  might  find 
only  the  frail  tenement  of  clay. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  door  and  uttered  the  Master's 
blessed  salutation,  *  *  Peace  be  to  this  house  and  to  all  who  are 
therein.,'  Truly  there  was  peace,  though  it  was  the  peace  of 
conflict. 

Mr.  Blanders  started. 

He  had  not  calculated  on  this  encounter,  or,  if  he  had,  not  even 
his  wholesome  fear  of  the  partner  of  his  cares  would  have  induced 
him  to  remain. 

The  priest  looked  at  him  sternly,  and  exclaimed : 

"Pray,  sir,  by  what  right,  human  or  divine,  do  you  dare  to 
intrude  on  my  dying  parishioner?" 

Mr.  Blanders  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then,  being  a  bully, 
as  cowards  generally  are,  he  replied: 

"  By  what  right  do  you  address  me  thus  ?" 

"  By  divine  right,  sir,"  replied  the  priest,  "  and  by  moral  right. 
By  divine  right,  for  this  dying  man  is  answerable  to  God,  and  not 
to  you,  for  the  faith  he  professes;  and  you,  you  would  dare  to 
come  in  his  hour  of  weakness,  and  try  to  bribe  him  (I  know  your 
foul  devices),  to  go  before  his  Maker  with  a  lie.  And  by  moral 
right  I  command  you  to  leave  this  house.  You  are  here  against 
the  will  of  this  good  m^n.  His  room  is  his  property  as  much  as 
your  room  is  yours.     And  what  would  you  say  to  the  person  who 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  1 7 

forced  himself  into  your  presence  in  your  dying  moments  against 
your  will?  Is  there  one  law  for  the  poor  and  another  for  the 
rich?" 

Mr.  Blanders  looked  round  nervously.  He  was  very  anxious 
to  remain.  He  knew  the  priest  had  little  time  to  spare,  and  what 
a  proud  letter  he  could  write  to  his  English  employers  if  he  could 
say  that  he  had  defied  the  priest  and  remained  beside  the  dying 
man,  "preaching  the  gospel  "  to  him  to  his  last  breath. 

"Father!" 

The  word  was  breathed  so  low  by  the  dying  man,  that  it 
needed,  indeed,  the  ear  of  a  father  to  catch  the  sound.  But  the 
priest  was  well  used  to  patient  listening,  to  tender  lingering  by 
dying  beds  when  the  failing  breath  gives  forth  such  sounds  that 
only  accustomed  ears  could  tell  their  import. 

"Father!" 

It  was  here — it  was  in  the  death  agony — it  was  in  the  supreme 
moment  of  human  anguish  which  must  come  to  all,  that  the  bless- 
edness of  an  office  like  his  can  be  best  understood  ! 

The  priest  turned  quickly  to  the  dying  man,  and  bent  over  him 
with  a  more  than  ordinary  compassion. 

"  Father,  for  God's  sake  drive  that  devil  away.  He  wants  to 
buy  my  child;  he  wants — " 

"I  know,  I  understand.  He  shall  go,  and  I  promise  you,  in 
the  name  of  God,  that  I  will  take  care  of  Thade,  and  that  you 
shall  die  in  peace." 

The  priest  had  spoken  loud  enough  for  Mr.  Blanders  to  hear 
him.    He  now  turned  to  him. 

"  There  is  the  door,  sir,  and  if  you  do  not  leave  the  house  in- 
stantly, I  will  obtain  the  assistance  of  the  police  to  expel  you 
from  it ;  and  I  shall  have  the  place  watched  to-night,  to  prevent 
your  further  intrusion." 

The  Scripture-reader  thought  discretion  the  better  part  of 
valor.  There  was  only  one  point  on  which  his  employer  required 
any  special  discretion  from  him.  He  was  particularly  desired 
not  to  let  his  proceedings  come  before  the  public  when  there  might 
be  any  appearance  of  intrusion. 


18  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

It  was  evident,  even  to  the  dull  comprehension  of  the  "  Society 
for  the  Conversion  of  Irish  Papists, ' '  that  it  would  tell  badly  indeed 
if  it  were  known  that  they  forced  their  Bibles  or  their  agents  on 
those  who  were  unwilling  to  receive  them.  It  was  no  matter 
what  was  done  privately — that  was  "  a  triumph  of  the  Gospel." 

Marvellous  infatuation  of  heresy  and  unbelief !  These  very 
people,  who  were  forever  accusing  Catholics  of  subterfuge  and 
falsehood,  put  no  limit  to  their  own  falsehoods  and  subterfuges, 
and  rejoiced  in  deeds  of  the  blackest  treachery  and  bribery.* 

Then  the  priest  once  more  gave  the  dying  penitent  the  last 
absolution;  and  after  he  had  called  Granny  to  keep  such  watch 
as  she  could  until  he  could  send  a  protector,  he  left  the  cottage 
sadly. 

Tim  soon  after  fell  into  the  heavy  stupor  of  death.  Granny 
watched  by  him,  saying  her  beads  and  rocking  herself  to  and  fro, 
in  a  scarcely  less  heavy  stupor  of  grief.  Poor  Granny  !  It  was 
well,  indeed,  that  her  faculties  were  so  dull  and  blunted  by  a 
life  of  much  sorrow  and  by  months  of  starvation.  The  morning 
came,  but  the  straggling  beams  of  the  December  sun  shone  on 
two  corpses.  Granny  had  passed  away  to  her  long  last  rest,  dy- 
ing with  her  beads  in  her  hand. 

The  lad  whom  the  priest  had  hoped  to  have  sent  to  guard  the 
family  from  the  intrusion  of  soupers  had  not  been  able  to  come. 
When  he  arrived  in  the  morning  he  found  there  was  no  living 
soul  to  care.  Tim  O'Halloran  and  his  aged  mother  were  in  the 
keeping  of  the  holy  angels. 

Little  Thade  had  disappeared. 

*It  is  true  that  much  of  this  curious  process  of  "converting  the  Irish  "  has 
been  discarded,  but  the  reader  must  not  for  one  moment  suppose  that  it  is 
entirely  abandoned.  At  this  very  moment  active  proselytizing  is  going  on  in 
seme  parts  of  Ireland,  and  it  is  carried  out  with  a  degree  of  shameless  dishon- 
esty which  is  scarcely  credible.  I  know  of  my  own  personal  knowledge  in- 
stances of  this  proselytizing.  Within  the  last  few  weeks  a  Galway  priest  has 
called  attention,  in  the  public  papers,  to  a  gross  case  of  proselytism — a  young 
girl  having  been  actually  detained  forcibly  in  Protestant  establishments, 
where  she  was  kept  without  food  from  Holy  Thursday  until  Easter  Sunday, 
because  she  refused  to  eat  meat.  So  much  for  Protestant  "liberty  of  con- 
science." 


DR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME   A  BANKER.  19 


CHAPTER  in. 

HOW  THADE  WAS  LOST  AND  FOUND. 

Wait,  my  country,  and  be  wise; 
Rest  and  sleep,  and  thou  shalt  rise, 
And  tread  down  thine  enemies. 

" Heard  the  news,  father?" 

rt  More  deaths,  I  suppose,  Kate;  there  is  little  else  now." 

But  Kate's  expression  of  combined  amusement  and  vexation 
did  not  indicate  so  serious  a  matter. 

"  Little  Thade  O'Halloran  has  disappeared." 

"Soupers!"  exclaimed  Mr.  O'Grady,  and  then  he  ''said  a 
swear." 

Excuse  him;  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  using  strong  language. 

"  I  saw  Father  James  after  mass  this  morning,  and  he  told  me 
Mick  Moriarty  had  been  to  Dunn's  farm  before  daybreak.  Poor 
Tim  was  dead,  and  Granny  O'Halloran  was  lying  dead  beside 
him;  but  Thade  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  called  for  him  and 
searched  for  him  everywhere." 

"  It's  that  confounded  Blanders  woman,"  roared  irascible  Mr. 
O'Grady,   "  as  sure  as — as  my  name's  Miles  O'Grady." 

"  Easy  said,  father,  but  who's  to  prove  it  ?" 

"I'll  take  the  law  of  them;  I'll  prosecute — I'll  expose  the 
whole  seed  and  breed  of  them,  as  sure  as — " 

"  My  name's  Miles  O'Grady  !"  exclaimed  a  lad  of  some  four- 
teen summers,  who  came  into  the  breakfast-room,  apparently  for 
the  express  purpose  of  continuing  his  father's  sentence. 

"  You  young  dog  !  you''  11  have  the  law  taken  of  you  some  day 
if  you  haven't  more  respect  for  your  elders." 


20  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

But  it  was  no  use  to  scold  him,  for  neither  father  nor  sister 
could  keep  anger  long  with  the  bright,  joyous  lad,  whose  very 
presence  made  sunshine  in  the  house. 

Mr.  Miles  O'Grady  had  been  for  many  years  a  friend  of  Tim 
O'Halloran 's.  It  is  true  they  held  very  different  positions  in 
life.  Tim  O'Halloran  was  but  a  farmer,  and,  though  he  was 
universally  respected,  he  never  tried  nor  desired  to  raise  himself 
to  any  higher  station.  Mr.  O'Grady  belonged  to  an  old  family 
of  high  respectability,  and  in  Kerry,  where  "  blood  "  is  held  in 
special  honor,  his  descent  counted  for  much. 

His  worldly  position  was  not  one  which,  under  other  circum- 
stances, would  have  entitled  him  to  hold  the  position  he  did.  But 
he  was  one  of  the — we  had  almost  said  few — Irishmen  who,  at 
that  period,  had  the  common  sense  to  prefer  an  honest  employ- 
ment, however  humble,  to  idleness  and  fancied  respectability. 
He  had  made  acquaintance  with  Tim  O'Halloran  when  engaged 
in  his  occupation  of  road  inspector.  Tim's  troubles  had  touched 
him,  for  Mr.  O'Grady  had  lost  his  own  wife  a  few  months  before 
his  humble  friend  had  suffered  a  similar  affliction. 

When  Tim  found  himself  dying,  he  sent  a  message  to  the 
"master,"  as  he  always  called  Mr.  O'Grady,  but  the  message 
had  not  been  received.  Messengers  were  hard  to  find  in  those 
days  of  dire  tribulation,  and  it  not  unfrequently  happened  that 
the  messenger  fell  himself  by  the  way  and  died  as  he  fell,  or  was 
carried  to  a  fever-shed.  Thos>e  who  once  entered  those  miserable 
substitutes  for  home  care  rarely  came  forth  again  to  tell  the 
world  the  tale  of  suffering  and  neglect. 

"  Well,  father,  have  some  breakfast,  and  then  you  can  see 
Father  James,  and — " 

But  Miles  O'Grady  was  not  the  man  to  sit  down,  even  to  the 
poor  breakfast  he  allowed  himself — for  he  could  not  feast  while 
others  fasted — while  he  thought  the  child  of  his  dead  friend  was 
in  clanger  of  body  or  soul.  He  had  scarcely  heard  his  daughter's 
request;  his  hat  was  on,  and  he  was  looking  in  every  direction 
for  his  stick. 

But  Miles  Junior  had  abstracted  that  formidable  instrument,  in 
compliance  with  an  ocular  hint  from  his  sister. 


OR,   HOW  THADE   BECAME   A   BANKER.  21 

When  Miles  O'Grady's  blood  was  up  he  was  apt  to  use  stnk- 
mg  arguments,  and,  in  the  present  instance,  a  breach  of  the  peace 
would  have  been  anything  but  desirable. 

For  once  discretion  had  the  ascendant,  and  he  proceeded  to 
Father  James'  modest  residence,  cooler  thoughts  having  suggested 
this  as  a  wiser  proceeding  than  the  general  and  particular  on- 
slaught which  he  had  meditated  on  the  Blanders  family. 

Father  James  could  give  no  information  beyond  the  facts  al- 
ready known.  He  advised  caution,  with  a  very  decided  misgiv- 
ing that  his  advice  would  be  utterly  lost  on  the  person  on  whom 
it  was  bestowed. 

But  he  also  advised  energetic  measures,  an  advice  which  was 
scarcely  necessary. 

Mrs.  Blanders  was  sitting  in  her  parlor,  not  counting  out  her 
money,  like  the  traditional  queen  in  the  traditional  story,  but  she 
was  doing  what  was,  perhaps,  quite  as  pleasant.  She  was  count- 
ing up  the  probable  gain  of  a  rather  dirty  transaction  which  had 
employed  her  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  of  that  day. 

Her  revene  was  interrupted, 

"  Please,  mum,  there's  a  gintleman  at  the  door  won't  give  no 
name,  and  wants  to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Blanders  was  quite  prepared  to  have  any  number  of  gen- 
tlemen call  that  morning.     She  had  rather  expected  the  police. 

"  Show  the  gentleman  in,  Ellen,"  and  she  hastened  to  the 
door  herself.  It  was  no  policy  of  hers  to  keep  any  one  waiting 
that  day. 

For  once  Mr.  Miles  O' Grady  was — as  he  expressed  it  himself— 
"taken  aback." 

Mrs.  Blanders  offered  him  a  seat  with  the  utmost  politeness, 
and  waited  with  a  masterly  assumption  of  anxiety  and  deference 
to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  The  consequence  was,  as  she  had 
anticipated,  that  Mr.  Miles  O'Grady  found  it  very  difficult  indeed 
to  know  how  to  begin. 

To  have  "pitched  into  a  fellow  head  foremost "  would  have 
been  simple,  even  if  it  had  not  been  politic;  but  to  confront  an 
exceedingly  civil  woman  with  any  remark  that  was  not  civil  was 
by  no  means  so  easy  a  proceeding  as  he  had  anticipated. 


22  FROM   KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

Mr.  O' Grady  took  the  seat  so  politely  offered  him.  He  laid 
his  hat  on  the  floor,  he  took  it  up,  he  put  it  down  again;  he 
consulted  the  inside  of  it,  and  for  once  in  his  life  he  wished  him- 
self a  hundred  miles  from  where  he  was. 

Mrs.  Blanders  enjoyed  the  situation,  but  she  was  not  the  woman 
to  allow  the  little  sense  of  the  ridiculous  with  which  she  was 
gifted  to  interfere  with  the  stern  business  of  life. 

She  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  committing  herself  by 
speaking.  But  the  silence  was  broken  by  an  interruption  for 
which  neither  were  prepared.  The  eldest  son  of  the  Blanders 
family  dashed  unexpectedly  into  the  room,  and  not  seeing  or  not 
heeding  the  stranger,  roared  out: 

"  I  say,  ma,  that  boy  will  make  the  sign — " 

But  Mrs,  Blanders,  though  stunned  for  the  moment,  was  equal 
to  the  occasion.  A  less  diplomatic  woman  would  have  hustled 
the  boy  angrily  out  of  the  room,  and  betrayed  herself  and  her 
secret,  past  denial. 

Not  so  the  astute  "souper's  "  wife. 

For  deeds,  she  merely  pressed  the  foot  of  her  eldest  hope  in  a 
manner  he  perfectly  understood,  and  which  made  him  quail  not 
a  little  for  the  probable  sequel ;  for  words  she  said :  ' '  My  dear, 
where  are  your  manners  ?  You  can  tell  me  about  your  little 
brother's  fancy  about  these  signs  another  time — free-mason 
signs,"  she  said,  coolly  turning  to  Mr.  O'Grady.  "  These  boys  of 
mine  have  taken  a  fancy  they  have  found  out  some  great 
mystery." 

Mr.  O'Grady  was  not  deceived.  He  suspected  now,  more 
strongly  than  ever,  that  ThadeO'Halloran  was  in  the  house,  but 
even  he  was  well  aware  that  suspicion  and  proof  were  very 
different  matters  in  the  eyes  of  the  law. 

His  courage  was  restored,  however,  by  the  barefaced  lie,  and  he 
opened  his  mission,  if  not  with  as  much  tact  as  he  had  intended, 
at  least  with  straightforwardness,  which  has  often  a  greater 
success. 

"You  are  aware,  no  doubt,  Mrs.  Blanders,  that  little  Thade 
O'Halloran  has  disappeared.     I  called  here  to  inquire—" 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  23 

But  he  was  not  allowed  to  finish  his  sentence. 

"  Really  missing,  poor  boy  !  how  kind  of  you.  But  you  know 
he  does  not  belong  to  our  church,  and  though,  of  course,  we  are 
interested  in  all  our  neighbors,  you  cannot  expect  us  to  give  you 
any  information  on  this  subject." 

"Excuse  me,  madam;  I  think  your  son  has  given  me  a  little 
information  just  now." 

"  No  !  really,  you  don't  say  so.  How  rejoiced  I  shall  be  if  the 
dear  boy  is  found  through  our  means.  Thade  O'Halloran — ah, 
yes,  I  think  I  heard  yesterday  from  my*  husband  that  the  poor 
father  was  very  ill." 

The  "dear  boy  "  had  left  the  room  in  obedience  to  another 
silent  and  expressive  caution  from  his  mother,  before  Mr.  O'Grady 
had  spoken. 

Mr.  O'Grady  could  scarcely  bring  himself  to  say  hard  words 
to  any  woman,  and  the  air  of  interest  and  innocence  was  so  well 
assumed,  that  a  wiser  head  might  have  been  perplexed  how  to  act. 

"  Your  husband  was  at  O'Halloran' s  last  night;  he  was  met 
there  by  Father  James,  and  was  ordered  by  him  to  leave  the 
house.  You  will  be  so  good  as  to  remember  that  this  can  be 
proved  in  court  if  necessary;  and,  further,  it  can  be  proved  that 

the  de ,  I  mean  your  husband,  offered  O'Halloran  any  sum  of 

money  if  he  would  give  up  the  boy  to  him,  and  offered  to  make  a 
gentleman  of  the  poor  child  if  he  would  renounce  his  faitn. 
Pretty  gentleman,  indeed,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

Something  very  like  a  scuffle  was  heard  at  this  moment  on  the 
stairs,  and  Mrs.  Blanders  felt  assured  that  the  sooner  she  had  her 
visitor  off  the  premises  the  better.  She  knew  that  to  insult  his 
clergyman  was  the  surest  way  to  excite  his  anger,  and  if,  in  his 
anger,  he  used  threatening  language  to  her,  she  could  the  sooner 
rid  herself  of  his  presence. 

"Ah,  yes,  your  clergyman,  you  say;  but  now  excuse  me,  my 
dear  sir,  do  you  really  believe  all  these  priests  tell  you?"  and 
she  smiled  a  smile  of  confidential  inquiry.  "It  is  all  very  well 
for  the  lower  classes,  who  must  be  kept  in  some  kind  of  order; 
but,  you  know,  a  gentleman  in  your  position — " 


24  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

<<  Madam,  I—" 

"  Pray,  sir,  don't  misunderstand  me.  I  know  you  must  ap- 
pear to  a — well,  to  a  heretic,  as  you  call  me  (the  noise  on  th« 
stairs  was  becoming  louder  every  moment)  to  believe  all  this 
folly;  but  zve  know  different,"  she  continued,  regardless  of  gram- 
mar, "  and  in  courts  of  law,  at  least  in  England,  no  one  would 
believe  a  priest  (she  glanced  covertly  at  Mr.  O'Grady's  expres- 
sive countenance  and  saw  stronger  words  were  needed  to  drive 
him  out  of  the  house),  or  these  wretched  victims  of  priestcraft.,, 

"  If  you  were  a  man,"  exclaimed  Mr.  O'Grady,  with  an  indig- 
nation almost  too  strong  for  words;  ^ut  apparently  he  thought 
words  useless  or  not  sufficiently  forcible.  He  stood  up,  said  no 
more,  walked  out  of  the  house  with  at  least  an  expressed  resolve 
to  have  no  more  to  do  with  women,  and  evinced  his  excitement 
by  a  slam  of  the  door  which  made  the  house  tremble. 

A  lad  passing  by,  who  had  not  had  all  the  buovance  of  youth 
crushed  out  of  him  by  famine,  shouted  "souper,"  and  added 
considerably  to  Mr.  O'Grady's  ire. 

As  he  went  down  the  street  he  met  Father  James,  who  was  a 
man  of  few  words. 

"  Well,  sir?" 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  O'Grady,  "I  saw  the  woman;  and 
faith,  sir,  I'll  never  face  a  woman  again,  as  sure  as  my  name's 
Miles  O'Grady!" 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME   A   BANKEK.  2J 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHE  BIAXDERS   FAMILY    AT  HCME. 

sold  us  and  - 
Betra;  I  lied; 

But  we  stood  up  before  them 

- 

'•It's  ::  no  use,  Kate;  the  boy's  in  the  house  as  sure  as  my 

's  —  " 

Miles  O'Grady  was   very   angry.     It  was  too   much  for  his 

equanimity  to  have  been  so  ignominious  a  woman, 

but  I  I   the  look  of  am  which  his 

isseveration  had  provoked  in  K.  Jing  eye. 

"What  is   to  be   done?"  she  inquired,  without  noticing  her 
father's  pause.     "I  suppose  you  could  scarcely  bring  the  case 
court.'1 

*;  Faith,  an1  t  ye  might  .-.-  !:-.::» 

coort  as  the  like  o*  they."  exclaimed  Mick  McGrath,  who  had 

been  an  uninvited  listener  to  the  conversation.    ■•  Sure,  a  baker's 

dozen  of   the   jurymen  would    be  on  their  side.     Glory  be  to 

.  but  some  ot  the  gen!  the  wrong  cross  on  them.?' 

"Andwl  thinking  o:'?''  asked  Mr.  O'Grady,  i 

suspected  Mick  had  a  plan  in  his  head. 

"  Faith,  sir.  1  was  thinking  *  of  nothing,'  is  me  grandmother 
said,  when — ,5 

But  the  occasion  on  which   Mick's    grandmother  made   the 
noteworthy  observati  futurity. 

Father  James  had  just  entered  the  room  unannounced,  and  a 
serious  consultation  followed  as  to  the  t  36  to  be  pursued 

under  the  circumstances. 


fc6  FROM  KILLARXEY  TO  NEW  YORK: 

"We  have  wealth  and  power  against  us,  but  we  have  God 
with  us,"  he  said,  "  and  do  not  for  one  moment  doubt  that  the 
father's  dying  faith  will  be  abundantly  rewarded." 

"  I  am  certain  Mick  has  some  wild  scheme  in  his  head,"  ob- 
served Kate;  "I  only  hope  it  will  not  make  matters  worse  than 
they  are  already." 

Mr.  O'Grady  rose  and  rang  the  belL 

'•  I  will  caution  him — this  is  no  time  for  acts  of  imprudence, 
however  well  intended. 

"  Tell  Mick  he  is  wanted,  and  to  come  at  once." 

"  'Deed,  sir,"  replied  the  girl,  who  had  answered  the  sum- 
mons, "he's  just  gone  out  the  back  way,  and  he  tould  me  not 
to  keep  dinner  waitin'  for  him,  for  he  was  goin'  to  live  at  the  ex- 
pense ov  government,  as  it  was  nothin'  to  do  and  good  pay  for 
it.  He  would  not  be  'listin',  sure,  sir  ?"  she  added,  half  crying, 
for  there  had  been  some  little  tendernesses  between  Mick  and 
Kitty. 

Mr.  O'Grady  and  Father  James  rose  simultaneously.  It  was 
clear  Mick  was  up  to  something,  and  he  was  not  exactly  the 
person  to  conduct  difficult  and  delicate  negotiations. 

It  may  be  noticed,  nevertheless,  that  mother  wit  often  suc- 
ceeds where  man's  wisdom  fails;  and  Pat  has  a  knack  of  succeed- 
ing  when  he  takes  any  subject  to  heart. 

In  the  meantime,  poor  little  golden  haired  Thade  was,  to  use 
a  graphic  Irish  expression,  "  supping  sorrow." 

"  You  have  got  the  boy  now,"  observed  Mr.  Blanders  with  a 
much  of  a  tone  of  triumph  as  he  dared  to  use;   "  and  I  should 
like  to  know  what  you  are  going  to  do  with  him." 

Mrs.  Blanders  would  have  liked  a  little  enlightenment  on  this 
subject  herself,  but  she  was  not  going  to  lessen  her  prestige  by 
admitting  the  fact. 

"I  think  when  I  caught  the  bird  you  might  cage  it,"  she  re- 
plied, with  a  decision  proportioned  to  her  own  state  of  mental 
perplexity.  "  But  it's  just  like  you.  How  do  you  expect  the 
society  to  go  on  paying  you,  if  you  sit  all  day  with  your  hands 
before  you  and  do  nothing  ?" 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  2f 

The  charge  was  scarcely  true,  for  Mr.  Blanders  spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  day  in  personal  exercise.  He  had  two  good 
reasons.  One  was  that  he  was  bound  "  to  do  good  in  season  and 
out  of  season,"  according  to  the  terms  of  his  agreement  with  his 
employers.  The  other  reason  was  that,  though  he  found  a 
warmer  reception  than  he  bargained  for  when  he  went  on  his 
thankless  mission,  the  warmth  of  his  reception  at  the  domestic 
hearth  was  often  still  more  embarrassing. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bland  ;rs?" 

Mr.  Blanders  had  a  happy  knack  of  abstracting  himself  from 
exterior  affairs  when  he  was  not  desirous  of  attending  to  them. 
He  was  at  the  moment  occupied  in  studying  some  abstruse 
problem  which  appeared  to  have  absorbed  itself  into  a  crack  in 
the  ceiling. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Blanders,  very  good,  sir;  but  you  need  not  put 
on  your  pious  airs  with  your  wife.  We  had  better  use  plain 
words  and  come  to  a  plain  understanding."  (When  Mrs. 
Blanders  elected  to  use  "  plain  words,"  Mr.  Blanders  knew  the 
time  for  action  had  arrived,  and  quailed  accordingly.  )  "  Do  you 
intend  to  support  your  wife  and  family,  or  do  you  not  ?  That's 
what  /call  a  plain  question,  sir;  and  I  want  a  plain  answer." 

"Well,  really,  Liza,  you're  too — " 

"  I'm  too  good  for  you,  sir,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  Here 
am  I  losing  my  time,  and  every  moment  precious,  waiting  the 
last  two  hours  to  hear  one  word  of  sense  from  you." 

"I,"  faintly  murmured  Mr.  Blanders. 

"  I  want  no  I's,  sir;  Pve  had  enough  of  you,  goodness  knows, 
with  your  I's.  If  you'd  keep  your  eyes  open,  and  do  something 
for  the  good  of  your  family — " 

"My  dear—" 

"I'm  not  your  dear,  and  I  don't  want  any  of  your  soft  solder 
on  me,  though  goodness  knows  your're  dear  enough  to  me,"  she 
muttered,  with  a  grim  jocularity  which  Mr.  Blanders  had  learned 
to  know  and  respect. 

"  If  you  would  allow  me  to  speak — " 

"Allow  you  to  speak  I    Well,  Mr.  Blanders,  that's  rather  too 


2%  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  KEW  YORK; 

much  for  any  poor  woman's  feelings  Here  I  am  for  the  last  two 
hours  imploring  you  to  speak.  But  never  mind,  sir,  never  mind. 
Mr.  Blanders,  was  it  for  this  you  led  me  to  the  hymeneal  altar 
and  made  your  vows,  which  are  worth  about  as  much  as  the 
poor  Papists'  that  you  perjure  every  day  when  you  make  them 
swear  that  they  forsake  the  errors  of  Popery  for  those  of  the 
blessed  Reformation  ?     But  I'll  say  no  more,  sir." 

And  Mrs.  Blanders  subsided,  having  lost  her  breath,  and  really 
having  nothing  more  to  say. 

She  seated  herself  in  a  large  and  somewhat  ancient  easy-chair, 
assumed  the  air  of  an  injured  saint  and  martyr  combined,  and 
put  on  an  attitude  of  patient  attention  to  any  observations  which 
her  husband  might  make,  which  would  have  been  quite  sufficient 
to  drive  any  idea  out  of  the  head  of  any  human  being  subjected 
to  the  process. 

When  Mrs.  Blanders  had  determined  to  say  no  more,  her  hus- 
band was  strongly  tempted  to  observe  that  she  had  said  enough, 
and  at  least  to  hint  at  the  difficulty  of  making  the  observations 
she  so  much  desired  to  hear,  but  long  years  of  experience  had 
taught  him  prudence,  and  he  refrained. 

But  on  this  occasion  Mr.  Blanders  was  obliged  to  admit  that 
his  wife's  conversation  was  more  desirable  than  her  silence,  as  he 
had  not  the  slightest  idea  what  course  to  pursue,  and  he  dared  not 
even  hint  that  his  wife  was  in  a  similar  predicament. 

Mrs.  Blanders  was  not  slow  in  pronouncing  an  opinion  when 
she  had  an  opinion  to  give;  and  the  occasions  were  rare  indeed, 
in  which  she  did  not  consider  this  opinion  infallible. 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME.  A   BANKER.  29 


CHAPTER  V. 

ELLEN   MALONEY'S   CONVERSION,  AS  REPORTED  BY  MRS.  BLAND- 

ERS. 

Faith  is  the  spirit  and  life  in  the  world. 

De  Vere. 

"If  it's  wantin'  to  see  the  masther  you  are,  Pm  thinkin'  I'd 
better  tell  the  misthress,'r  observed  the  Blanders3  maid-of-all- 
work,  not  without  a  twinkle  of  humor  in  her  eye. 

"  Oh,  faith,  Miss,  it's  all  the  same  tome,  masther  or  misthress> 
if  they'll  do  me  business  handy." 

"Maybe  it's  convarsion  you  want;  it's  cheap  at  the  money  nowy 
I'm  thinkin',  for  they're  few  and  far  between,  like  the  masther's 
good  words, "  the  latter  part  of  the  observation  being  made  hi 
a  lower  key. 

Poor  Ellen  Maloney  !  She  was  a  "  famine  orphan,"  and  had 
been  thankful  to  get  a  bit  and  sup  in  the  hard  times  in  return  for 
her  services.  She  was  told  often  enough  in  the  day  that  she  was 
idle  and  lazy,  and  that  she  did  not  pay  for  her  keeping.  But 
Ellen  listened  to  it  all,  and  let  it  pass  by  like  the  summer  breeze 
—listened  to  it  as  she  listened  to  the  denunciations  of  Popery 
which  greeted  her  ears  periodically* 

Ellen  was  hard  -working,  industrious  and  cleanly,  as  Mrs.  Bland- 
ers knew  perfectly  well  when  she  took  her  into  her  disorderly 
and  ^thriftless  Household;  but  it  was  not  every  day  that  the  ser- 
vices of  so  efficient  a  girl  were  to  be  secured  gratis.  Ellen  had 
compromised  matters  in  a  strange  fashion  with  her  uneducated 
conscience.  She  had  stoutly  refused  to  be  converted.  She  had 
refused,  with  equal  determination,  to  attend  "family  prayers," 
or  the  master's  church;  but  she  did  not  go  to  mass  or  to  her  re» 
ligious  duties.  She  had,  indeed,  gone  to  the  church  and  knelt 
before  the  altar,  with  many  tears  and  sobs,  "to  bid   God  Al- 


3©  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

mighty  good -by"  till  better  times  should  come,  and  then  went  her 
way  to  service,  let  us  hope  little  knowing  the  sin  she  was  com- 
mitting. It  may  be  supposed  that  Ellen  had  very  little  desire  to  in- 
crease the  number  of  the  '•'mission"  proselytes,  but  if  she  had 
made  any  active  opposition  to  their  increase  it  would  have  been 
found  out,  and  she  was  silent. 

Ellen's  conversion  had  been  paraded  with  great  triumph  by  her 
employers.  Mr.  Blanders,  under  correction  of  Mrs.  Blanders,  or, 
to  speak  precisely,  at  her  dictation,  had  written  a  touching  report. 

It  was  composed  with  an  air  of — shall  we  say  assurance  or  deci- 
sion ? — which  was  the  result  of  the  undeniable  facts  that  existed, 
that  Ellen  was  under  their  roof,  and  that  she  had  been  a  Catholic. 
They  had  few  converts,  indeed,  of  whom  they  could  boast  so 
safely;  and  they  made  the  most  of  their  advantage. 

"I  have  to  report  a  wonderful  instance  of  the  success  of  our  mis- 
sion, and  of  our  unworthy  efforts  to  spread  the  Gospel  amongst 
this  benighted  people.  Ellen  Maloney,  a  young  girl  of  attractive 
appearance  and  engaging  manners,  ["  What  do  you  want,  Ellen?"' 
the  attractive  girl  had  just  opened  the  door,  and  rather  belied  the 
description.  "  Go  away,  go  away;  I  cannot  be  interrupted  now. 
Where  were  we,  Mr.  Blanders?  Really,  that  girl  is  a  perfect 
nuisance — at  engaging  manners — oh,  yes.  Well,  you  can  put 
next"]  has  been  brought  to  see  the  fearful  errors  and  pagan  doc- 
trines in  which  she  has  been  brought  up.  When  she  first  saw  a 
Bible  her  astonishment  was  unbounded,  and  she  rapturously 
seized  the  precious  volume  ["and  committed  it  to  the  flames,''1 
muttered  Mr.  Blanders;  "  I  saw  her;  she  said  if  she  wanted  a 
Bible  she  could  buy  one  that  was  the  real  thing."]  Since  it 
came  into  her  possession  we  have  constantly  found  her  poring 
over  its  pages.  [  "She  can't  read  two  words,"  soliloquized  Mr. 
Blanders,  but  a  good  deal  sot  to  voce,]  She  is  familiar  already 
with  the  names  of  all  the  prophets  and  kings  in  the  old  Testa- 
ment, ["My  dear,  you  really  must  try  to  get  her  to  learn  sonic- 
thing.  If  the  Rev.  Antony  Blarney  comes  down  here  to  inspect 
the  mission  he  will  certainly  question  her,  and  it  will  be  very  un- 
pleasant if  she  cannot  answer  him  properly,"]  and  we  note  a 
marked  improvement  in  her  way  of  expressing  herself  on  relig- 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  3 1 

Ions  subjects.  Our  dear  children,  who  have,  of  course,  been  well 
taught  Gospel  truths,  are  having  a  share  in  the  blessed  work 
of  her  instruction,  and  have  taught  her  [the  eldest  hope  being 
present,  and  hearing  himself  mentioned  inclusively,  observes, 
"Ma,  do  you  know  that  I  heard  Ellen  teaching  Tommy  what 
she  said  was  a  text  out  of  the  Bible  about  Mary:  '  Hail  Mary,  full 
of  grace  '  it  was,  or  something  like  that,  and  you  said  one  day  it 
was  bad  to  say  it,  and  how  can  it  be  bad  if  it's  in  the  Bible ?" 
The  inquiring  mind  receives,  however,  a  severe  shock  in  the  un- 
pleasant form  of  a  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head,  and  a  recom- 
mendation to  mind  his  own  business,  which — the  result  of  not 
attending  to  a  similar  recommendation  on  other  occasions  being 
vividly  remembered — he  proceeded  to  do  without  further  remark] 
some  simple  Scripture  narratives.  We  have  taken  this  young 
person  into  the  house  at  serious  inconvenience  to  ourselves,  but 
for  a  work  of  such  importance  we  are  prepared  to  make  every 
sacrifice,  ["Had  you  not  better  say  something  about  compensa- 
tion ?  Those  who  live  by  the  Gospel,  you  know."  "  I  will 
not  say  anything  about  compensation,  Mr.  Blanders.  Hold  your 
tongue  and  write  what  you  are  told."]  and,  of  course,  in  the 
painful  state  of  the  times  and  the  high  prices  of  provisions,  every 
additional  mouth  in  a  household  is  a  heavy  additional  expense. 
It  was  also  necessary  that  we  should  protect  her  from  the  violence 
of  the  mob,  who,  instigated  by  the  priests,  were  prepared  to 
murder  the  happy  girl.  ["My  dear,  if  inquiries  are  made  about  this 
— really,  now,  you  know  it  is  a  little  strong."  It  was  a  little 
strong,  considering  that  there  was  not  even  a  substratum  of  sand 
on  which  to  build  the  house  of  cards.  "  If  inquiries  are  made,  Mr. 
Blanders,  you  can  refer  them  to  ME,  and  I  hope  I  shall  know  how 
to  answer  them.  You  will  be  so  good  as  to  remember  that  you 
are  writing  of  what  would  have  happened  if  we  had  not  given 
the  young  person  the  shelter  and  protection  of  our  roof."  Mr. 
Blanders  thought  he  was  writing  (from  dictation)  of  what  had  hap- 
pened, but  he  subsided  and  continued.]  If  we  have  no  other 
fruit  to  show  of  our  long  and  weary  labors,  the  conversion  of 
Ellen  Maloney  would  be  sufficient  to  compensate  for  a  large 
outlay  of  time  and  money;  but  there  is  no  doubt  whatever  that 


72  FKOM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK,' 

her  conversion  will  have  an  immense  effect,  as  the  excitement  it 
has  caused  is  prodigious.  Largely  increased  funds  may  now  be 
entrusted  to  us  with  every  prospect  of  a  return  which  will  fuii/ 
repay  the  outlay.  These  funds  shouM  be  supplied  as  promptly  as 
possible,  as  I  need  scarcely  call  your  attention  to  the  fact  that 
unless  we  act  at  the  moment  when  the  people  are  ready  to  receive 
our  words,  there  will  not  be  the  same  hope  of  success/' 

"  Anything  more,  my  dear?" 

"I  think  not.  Stay  !  you  had  better  mention  that  we  do  not 
purpose  sending  this  young  girl  to  the  Hawk's  Nest  at  present;, 
she  will  be  perfectly  safe  here,  and  my  wife  will  take  care  that 
she  is  not  tampered  with  by  her  former  associates.  We  have,  in 
fact,  thought  it  well  to  give  her  some  light  occupation  in  our 
small  family,  to  occupy  her  mind,  as  she  cannot  be  always  en- 
gaged in  Bible  lessons.  My  wife  has  read  some  portions  of  this, 
report  for  her.  Her  expressions  of  gratitude  are  unbounded,  and 
she  would  express  them  herself  if  we-  allowed  her,  only  we 
fear  that  she  would  write  too  strongly  about  the  little  we  have- 
done  for  her;  and  the  expense  we  have  had  m  the  matter  seems 
to  weigh  heavily  on  her  sensitive  conscience,  though  we  have- 
assured  her  that  we  shall  be  fully  repaid  by  the  kind  gentlemen 
who  take  such  an  interest  in  the  benighted  Irish  race.  She  is 
constantly  exclaiming:  *  Without  money  and  without  price — 
without  money  and  without  price ;'  and  contrasting  my  dear  wife's 
disinterested  generosity  with  the  grasping  and  avaricious  spirit 
of  the  Church  she  has  left-  She  assures  us  that  the  priest  re- 
fused to  give  what  they  call  the  rites  of  the  Church  to  her  poor 
mother,  when  she  was  dying  of  starvation,  because  she  had  no- 
money  to  give  him."* 

Such  is  the  history  of  the  girl  whom  we  have  kept  too  long  in 
conversation  at  Mr.  Blanders'  hall-door. 

*Such  calumnies  are  circulated  even  at  the  present  day,  to  the  writer's  own 
knowledge.  Soon  after  the  writer  of  this  story  was  received  into  the  Catholic 
Church,  an  educated  and  liberal-minded  Protestant  gentleman  asked  her 
seriously,  and  not  in  any  spirit  of  bigotry  or 'prejudice,,  how  much  she  paid  the- 
priest  every  time  she  went  to  confession.  Soupers  and  so-called  converts 
know  perfectly  well  that  these  calumnies  are  base  lies,  but  it  answers  their 
purpose  to  circulate  them.  If  Protestants  knew  the  truth  about  Catholic 
teaching  there  would  be  many  converts;  hence  the  devil  has  a  special  and 
very  deep  interest  in  keeping  them  in  ignorance. 


OR,  KOW  TKADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  3j 


CHAPTER  VL 


BACK  AT  THE   HALL-DOOR. 


But  fixed  as  fate  her  altars  stand, 

Unchanged,  like  God,  her  faith.  De  Verk 

**  Well,  my  good  man,  what  do  you  want  ?" 

Mick  scratched  his  head — a  not  unfrequent,  though  wholly 
unaccountable  source  of  information  to  the  Irish  mind. 

"They're  hard  times,  miss,"  replied  Mick,  after  a  moment's 
pause.     He  did  not  want  to  commit  himself  in  a  hurry. 

Mrs.  Blanders  began  to  have  some  -suspicions  that  there  was 
something  in  Mick's  visit  beyond  what  was  apparent  on  the  sur- 
face, and  acted  accordingly. 

"  You  are  Mr.  O'Grady's  man,"  she  said,  rather  as  an  asser- 
tion than  as  an  inquiry.  There  was  not  a  man,  woman  or  child 
for  twenty  miles  round  the  country  whom  she  did  not  know  by 
sight. 

"Thrue  for  ye,  miss.  I  was  his  man,  anyway;  which  puts  me 
thinkin'  of  the  English  gentleman  that  asked  Jim  Murphy  to  sell 
him  yesterday's  paper,  and  he  tould  him  he  couldn't,  because  he 
sold  it  to  a  Scotchman  last  week." 

Mrs.  Blanders  was  for  once  fairly  perplexed.  What  did  the 
man  want,  and  why  did  he  not  say  what  he  wanted  ?  He  did 
not  look  poor  enough  to  be  purchasable,  and  he  had  had  a  good 
place  with  Mr.  O'Grady  for  several  years. 

It  would  not  do,  certainly,  to  lose  a  "convert,"  but  it  would 
not  do,  either,  to  find  herself  the  victim  of  some  wild  scheme  of 
reprisals,  such  as  had  often  been  threatened,  and  such  as  she  had 


34  FROM  KXLLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

every  reason  to  apprehend.  Indeed,  the  depression  of  the  famine 
year  alone  had  saved  her. 

It  was  wit  against  wit,  and  caution  against  caution. 

"  I  think  I'd  better  step  inside,  miss,  if  it's  plaisin*  to  you,  as 
Noah  said  to  the  little  fishes  that  was  swimmm*  round  the  ark." 

Mrs.  Blanders.  assented  with  a  sour  smile  at  the  man's  attempt 
at  wit.  She  had,  indeed,  observed  that  he  looked  restlessly  up 
and  down  the  street  while  thisshort  conversation  was  being  carried 
on,  and  that  gave  her  some  hope  that  she  had  landed  a  prize. 

"Well,  now,  my  good  man,  what  is  it  you  do  want  ?'r  inquired 
Mrs.  Blanders,  with  an  attempt  at  amiability  which  was  far  more 
repulsive  than  her  most  savage  moods. 

"Sure,  miss,  I'm  thinkin*  of  emigratin?  to  America — after  a 
bit,  you  know,"  he  added  quickly,  seeing  the  information  did 
not  appear  very  acceptable  to  Mrs.  Blanders;  "anr  I  heard  tell 
there  was  good  livin'  an*  good  wages  for  a  poor  boy  up  in  Dublin 
that  wouldn't  be  too  particular  about  his  religion^  and  that  your- 
self is  the  lady  that  would  help  a  boy  to  turn  an  honest  penny — 
and  his  coat  along  with  it,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

Mrs.  Blanders'  mind  was  quick  when  business  was  concerned* 
and  she  began  to  think  how  she  could  best  utilize  the  circum- 
stances which,  she  believed,  Providence  had  thrown  in  her  way. 

She  mistrusted  the  man  with  a  woman's  keen  instinct,  and  she 
did  not  like  to  be  called  "  miss;"  but  we  must  do  her  the  justice 
to  say  that  she  never  allowed  any  personal  dislikes  or  private 
feelings  to  interfere  with  her  business. 

"But  why  did  you  leave  Mr.  O'Grady  ?" 

"  Faith,,  miss,  I  dunno,  if  it  wasn't  the  change -fa  ver  came  over 
me.  He' 11  wot  know  where  I'm  gone,  any  way, "  he  continued, 
but  rather  as  a  soliloquy  than  as.  an  observation  addressed  to  his 
interrogator. 

"  Did  you  know  a  boy  of  the  O'Hallorans'  ?" 

u  Is  it  a  boy  of  the  O'Hallorans',  miss?"  replied  Mick,  avail- 
ing himself  of  the  Celtic  propensity  to  reply  to-  a  question  by 
repeating  it. 

But  Mrs.  Blanders  gave  him  no  assistance.  And,  moreover, 
he  was  aware  that  she  was.  watching  him  very  closeLy. 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  35 

*'  A  boy  of  the  O'Hallorans',  is  it,  miss?  Sure,  me  "hearing's 
got  bad  with  the  potatoes.  But  maybe,"  he  said,  brightening 
up  as  if  with  a  sudden  and  happy  inspiration,  and  with  the  most 
charming  assumption  of  a  desire  to  exert  his  memory  to  the  very 
utmost,  "  to  oblige  the  lady  " — "maybe,  miss,  you're  meaning 
the  boy  that  gave  the  English  gentleman  the  quare  answer — the 
fair-haired  chap,  you  know,  that  went  to  Australy  last  winter. 
Maybe  you  heard  what  he  said,  miss,"  he  continued,  with  a  des- 
perate effort  to  get  himself  out  of  his  entanglement.  He  looked 
up  at  Mrs.  Blanders  for  a  moment,  but  her  face  was  a  perfect 
blank.  She  meant,  at  all  events,  to  let  him  have  his  say.  She 
could  afford  to  wait.  Her  plan  was  formed;  and  the  more  she 
saw  of  her  eccentric  visitor,  the  better^  before  she  developed  it. 

"It's  the  way,  miss.  There  was  a  lot  of  chaps  working  up  at 
the  church,  you  mind,  there  near  Muckross  domain,  an'  a  lot  of 
English  chaps — great  swells,  you  know — with  their  hi's  and  their 
h'ands,  comes  along,  and  walks  round  everything,  for  all  the 
world  as  if  they  were  paying  God  Almighty  a  compliment  for 
looking  at  the  beauties  of  nature  and  art:  and  then  they  ups 
and  they  goes  to  them,  and  one  chap  gave  the  wink  to  another, 
and  the  other  nudged  the  next  chap,  that  they'd  have  some  fun 
out  of  them  Oirish  fellows.  An'  as  luck  id  have  it,  who  should 
they  light  on  but  the  boy  ov  the  O'Hallorans' — the  devil's  luck 
they  had— I  mane  as  them  blackguard  Saxons,  savin'  your 
presence,  miss,  always  has.  An'  one  of  them  swaggers  up  to 
him,  puffin'  himself  out  like  a  Kerry  aigle  conversin'  with  a  pert 
sparrow,  an'  he  says,  condescendin'  like,  but  with  a  big  sneer 
on  his  ugly  mouth: 

;'  '  What  are  you  doing,  my  man?' 

"'Makin'  mortbar,  sir,'  says  O'Halloran;  *  an'  maybe  its 
your  eyes  you  left  in  England,'  he  says  to  himself;  but  the 
other  gentlemen  heerd  him,  and  they  signed  the  Englishman  to 
go  on. 

"  '  And  pray,  what  is  this  building  going  to  be  ?' 

"  '  A  church,  sir,'  says  O'Halloran,  an'  he  workin'  away  at  the 
morthar,  and  never  a  look  up  he  gives  at  all,  at  all,  but  just 


36  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

shovin'  away  at  what  was  before  him,  an*  mixin'  nicer  than  ever 
the  parson  did  his  twelfth  tumbler  of  punch. 

"  '  Oh,  a  church — really,  now.  And  pray,  a — what  a — denom- 
ination does  it  belong  to  ?' 

"  '  It  doesn't  belong  to  no  nomination  at  all,  sir;  it's  for  the 
Holy  Roman  Catholic  Church. ' 

"  Then  all  the  other  chaps  gives  a  laugh  you  might  hear  over 
to  the  aigle'snest,  and  the  chap  that  was  spakuV  got  quite  huffed 
like,  an'  he  says: 

"  *  Then  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it.' 

"  '  Faith,  sir,'  says  O'Halloran,  an'  he  spoke  up  pretty  loud, 
*  an'  that's  just  what  the  divil  says,'  an'  the  other  chaps  roared 
at  this.  You  might  a  heerd  them  over  beyond  the  mountains  at 
Kenmare,  let  alone  at  Adrigoole." 

A  sense  of  the  ridiculous  was  not  one  of  Mrs.  Blanders'  mental 
gifts,  and  she  scarcely  took  in  the  point  of  the  joke.  Indeed, 
the  cares  of  a  family  like  hers,  and  an  income  held  by  a  very  un- 
certain tenure,  might  have  dulled  the  wits  of  a  brighter  woman. 
Nor  did  she  very  much  concern  herself  about  the  broad  hit  at  her 
religion.  Her  religion,  so  far  as  she  could  be  said  to  have  any, 
was  to  provide  for  her  family — to  keep  her  household,  husband 
included,  in  order. 

But  the  evening  was  closing  in,  and  something  should  be  done 
with  this  loquacious  individual.  For  once  Mrs.  Blanders  was 
relieved  when  the  door  opened  and  Mr.  Blanders  entered  the 
untidy  apartment. 

"Mornin',  your  honor,"  said  Mike,  with  an  utter  and  callous 
disregard  of  the  time  of  day. 

Mrs.  Blanders  volunteered  an  explanation. 

"This  is  a — -I  believe — a  person — a  man,  in  fact — " 

"  Yes,  your  honor,  I'm  a  man,"  said  Mick,  without  moving  a 
muscle. 

"Who  wants,  I  think,  to  a — change — in  fact,  to  improve  his 
condition." 

"The  lady's  just  puttin'  the  case  neat  and  elegant,  as  the 
devil  said  when  he  put  the  last  nail  in  the  sou —  (Lord  help  you 


OR,    HOW   TRADE   BECAME   A   BANKER.  37 

to  hould  your  tongue  for  an  omadhawn;  you'll  put  your  foot  in 
it  before  you're  done,  anyhow,"  observed  Mick  to  himself.) 
"  Never  mind,  sir;  me  thoughts  is  too  many  for  me,  as  the  hin 
said  to  the  clutch  of  ducks.  It's  bettherin,  me  condition  I'm  afther, 
an'  your  good  lady,  I'm  tould,  is  the  man — (whist,  ye  villain,  and 
git  sinse) — I  mean,  the  woman,  to  help  me." 

Mr.  Bland  ers  was  so  frequently  told  to  hold  his  tongue  in 
private,  that  he  had  become  rather  afraid  to  let  it  move  in  public — 
at  least,  when  his  wife  was  present. 

An  exceedingly  severe  "Well,  Mr.  Blanders  ?"  brought  him  to 
his  senses,  or  rather  informed  him  that  he  was  permitted  and  ex- 
pected to  make  some  remark. 

"  Well,  my  good  man,  I  am  sure  we  are  only  too  willing  to 
help  you.  There  are  a  few  little  conditions  as  regards  religion, 
and  that,  but  we  will  make  it  as  easy  as  possible  for  you;  and 
my  wife — " 

"  I'll  thank  you  to  speak  for  yourself,  Mr.  Blanders." 
"  Oh,  well,  my  dear — " 

"  Och,  sir,  the  lady  and  I  understands  each  other — don't  we, 
miss  ? — and  I'm  agreein'  to  all  the  conditions  beforehand,  with- 
out hearing  them,  an'  I'm  sure  nothin'  in  life  could  be  fairer.  An' 
look  here,  miss,"  and  he  drew  his  chair  closer,  and  dropped  his 
voice  to  a  confidential  whisper,  "  about  that  O'Halloran  bey, 
sure  /  knows  what  I  knows,  and  mum's  the  word  and  silent  as 
the  grave.  Sure  I  know  the  benivolence  ov  ye  that  made  ye  take 
him  that  night  the  father  died  (God  be  merciful  to  his  soul  and 
heaven  be  his  bed,  amin  !)  and  know  ye  brought  him  up  to  this 
very  house,  where  ye  has  him  now,  and  clapped  your  hand  to  his 
mouth  when  he  roared  out,  not  knowing  the  good  ye  was  doing 
him;  an',  faith,  I  believe  ye  clapped  it  to  his  shoulders  pretty 
smart,  too.  Och,  it  was  mortial  kind  ye  were  to  the  poor  mis- 
understandin'  orphan;  faith,  it's  grateful  to  ye  he  ought  to  be. 
An'  sure  I  saw  the  pretty  crathur  peepin'  out  of  the  back  windy 
o'  this  very  house  an'  I  comin',  an'  he  tryin'  to  make  signs  to 
some  one  in  the  street  beyant,  as  if  the  ungrateful  little  villain  did 
not  know  what  was  good  for  him,  an'  he  pointin'  to  his  arm, 


38  FROM   KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

where  ye  beat  him  with  the  stick  last  night,  an'  sarved  him  right, 
too;  an'  the  police — " 

'  'Bless  my  soul  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Blanders. 

Mrs.  Blanders  looked  a  whole  case  of  pistols  at  him,  to  enjoin 
silence. 

The  fact  was  that  Mick  had  drawn  the  whole  narrative,  piece 
by  piece,  from  the  fertile  depths  of  his  own  imagination.  lie 
had  not  seen  the  child  carried  away  that  night;  he  had  not  seen 
Mrs.  Blanders  administering  personal  chastisement  to  the  unhappy 
victim  of  her  zeal ;  and  certainly  he  had  not  seen  the  child  look- 
ing out  of  the  back  window  as  he  came  in  at  the  front  door,  for 
he  was  not  possessed  of  Sam  Weller's  optics. 

But  he  had  told  his  narrative  with  such  an  air  of  confidential 
secrecy,  with  such  a  calm  assumption  of  knowledge,  with  such  a 
kind  intention  of  serving  people  who  were  about  to  confer  a  ben- 
efit on  himself,  and  whom  he  felt  bound  in  turn  to  befriend,  that 
both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blanders  were  completely  and  thoroughly 
taken  in;  and,  in  their  alarm  lest  the  knowledge  of  what  they 
had  done  could  be  really  and  legally  proved  against  them,  they 
quite  overlooked  Mick's  remarkable  statement  about  the  peculiar 
powers  of  his  organs  of  vision. 

Mr.  Blanders  was  literally  trembling.  The  mention  of  the  po- 
lice was  too  much  for  him.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he  had 
no  fear  whatsoever  of  that  respectable  body.  Whatever  their 
private  opinions  might  be — and  some  of  them  had  very  strong 
private  opinions — they  were  not  allowed  to  express  them  in  pub- 
lic; and  however  they  might  have  liked  to  see  soupers  consigned 
to  even  warmer  quarters  than  a  police  cell,  they  were  often 
under  the  orders  of  magistrates  who  certainly  leaned  pretty 
strongly  to  the  Protestant  side. 

But  here  was  a  case  which  would  be  sure  to  create  a  very  strong 
feeling  if  it  was  found  out;  and  though  Mr.  Blanders  knew  he 
would  be  well  backed  up  with  money  and  patronage,  and  held 
scot-free  by  the  unscrupulous  parties  for  whom  he  worked,  still, 
were  the  case  proved,  he  could  hardly  carry  on  his  work  longer 
in  Kiilarney,  and  it  might  not  answer  to  have  popular  feeling  run 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME   A   BANKER.  39 

too  high  against  him;  and  there  were  some  "  boys  "  in  the  neigh- 
borhood apt  to  be  free  with  their  blackthorns  if  their  ire  was 
roused.  The  hard  times,  the  utter  depression  of  the  people,  was 
all  in  his  favor;  still  he  knew  the  injured  have  good  memories. 

Mrs.  Blanders  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  Of  course  it  was  all 
Mr.  Blanders'  fault.  If  the  day  of  doom  had  arrived  she  would 
have  accused  the  unhappy  man  of  having  precipitated  its  arrival. 

"Ye'd  better  lave  the  boy  out  of  this  the  night, "  observed 
Mick,  keenly  enjoying  the  sensation  he  had  occasioned.  "  There's 
a  place,  I'm  tould,  call'd  the  Hawk's  Nest,  bekase,  I  suppose,  of 
the  birds  that  lives  in  it,  an' — " 

"The  boy  must  go  to  Dublin  to-night,  Mr.  Blanders." 

That  gentleman  was  not  prepared  to  contradict  any  observa- 
tion that  his  wife  made,  even  had  he  not  lost  his  mind  altogether 
from  sheer  fright. 

"But,  my  dear,  who  is  to  take  him  ?  If  either  of  us  leave  this, 
suspicion  will  follow  on — " 

"Mr.  Blanders,  I'll  thank  you  to  allow  me  to  speak." 

"Ah,  thin,  but  you're  the  lovin'  couple  entirely,"  observed 
Mick;  "  when  the  lady's  that  devoted  she's  always  privintin'  the 
gintleman  ov  the  throuble  ov  spakin'." 

Mrs.  Blanders  was  far  too  practical  to  notice  the  interruption. 

"If  your  toothache  was  not  so  bad,  Mr.  Blanders — " 

"My  dear—" 

"I  said,  Mr.  Blanders,  if  your  toothache  was  not  so  bad,  you 
ought  to  go  up  to  Dublin  yourself,  together  wdth  this  good  man 
and  the  boy.  As  it  is — well,  I'll  think  about  it — you  had  better 
come  with  me;"  and  Mrs.  Blanders,  having  signed  to  Mick  to 
remain  where  he  was,  and  to  her  husband  to  follow  her,  left  the 
room. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Blanders,  I'll  thank  you  to  attend  to  what  I'm  go- 
ing to  say.  You  must  go  to  Dublin  with  this  man.  I  believe  he  is 
in  earnest — at  least,  that  he  wants  to  get  money,  and  will  make 
some  sacrifices  for  it;  but  it  would  be  impossible  to  trust  him  with 
the  boy  alone.  Can  I  depend  on  you  that  you  won't  make  a  fool 
of  yourself  and  spoil  the  whole  business?" 


40  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

"My  dear—" 

"You're  enough  to  drive  any  woman  clean  crazed — you,  the 
father  of  a  family — God  help  them  ! — with  no  more  sense  than  a 
teetotum,  or — an  elephant"  (Mrs.  Blanders  was  apt  to  confuse  her 
metaphors,  and  wholly  regardless  of  the  fact  that  she  had  asked 
Mr.  Blanders  a  question).  "  Certainly  I  cannot  leave  this  place 
with  no  one  but  you  in  it,  and  of  two  evils  choose  the  least, 
which,  I  must  say,  in  conscience,  when  you  are  in  it  is  always  the 
worst.  And  now  I  beg  you  will  attend  to  me  and  do  exactly 
what  I  desire,  or  you  need  not  corne  to  me  when  you  get  into 
trouble  again," 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME  A   BANKER,  4? 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN   THE   POLICE   COURT. 

Oh,  thin,  Paddy  Malone,  ye  bewildering  boy, 
Ye're  yer  father's  own  jewel,  yer  mother's  own  joy. 

"  Drunk  and  disorderly — fined  five  shillings.  Now,  then,  sir? 
look  sharp  and  pay  up." 

"  Is  it  five  shillin's  ye  mane?"  observed  Mick,  with  a  face  ex- 
pressive of  utter  vacuity;  "  faith,  it's  myself  that  never  touched  a 
whole  shillin'  since  the  time  I  was  born,  ban-in'  the  one  I  swal- 
lowed when  I  was  a  babby,  when  the  doctor — " 

"We  want  none  of  your  talk.  Pay  your  money  and  go;  five 
shillings  for  you  and  five  for  the  gentleman  that's  along  with  you. 
You  seem  to  have  got  over  the  drink  better  than  he  did,  for  he 
looks  drunk  and  incapable  this  minute. ' ' 

"  Oh,  sure,  your  honor,  sir,  you  would  not  be  blamin'  him;  he 
has  not  got  his  mornin'  shut  up  in  that  dirty  cell  all  night,  an' 
he's  never  himself  until  the  missus  comes  to  his  bedside  with  a 
drop  to  rouse  his  sowl." 

If  ever  mortal  man  was  in  an  agony  of  desperation  and  de- 
spair, that  man  was  John  Thomas  Blanders.  If  ever  man  realized 
that  his  wife  was  his  better-half,  John  Thomas  Blanders  realized 
it  that  day. 

Certainly  he  would  have  given  ten  years  of  his  life  to  have  had 
her  at  hand  to  get  him  out  of  the  hapless  position  in  which  he 
found  himself. 

The  result  of  the  private  interview  between  husband  and  wife 
had  been  a  visit  from  Mr.  Blanders  toa  u  medical  hall,"  where 


42  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

he  appeared  with  his  face  tied  up  and  considerably  swelled,  as 
might  be  seen  by  the  protuberance  of  the  bandage  in  which  it 
was  swathed. 

Having  expressed  his  sufferings  by  many  groans  and  contor- 
tions, he  asked  for  something  to  ease  the  pain,  and  on  being 
provided  with  a  remedy,  he  said  that  he  hoped  there  was  enough 
to  last  him  for  several  days,  as  he  was  sure  he  was  in  for  a  bad 
attack,  and  Mrs.  Blanders  did  not  like  sending  the  servants  out 
of  messages. 

Now  Mr.  Blanders  was  an  inoffensive  man  in  general — partly 
from  natural  character,  and  partly  in  consequence  of  the  severe 
and  excellent  training  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  since  his 
marriage.  But  all  this  availed  him  little.  He  was  hated  for  the 
dirty  work  he  did.  Any  other  sufferer  would  have  been  received 
with  sincere  expressions  of  sympathy  and  condolence ;  but  the 
only  remark  elicited  by  his  appearance  was  a  sotto  voce  observa- 
tion of  one  shop-boy  to  another,  who  wondered  if  Mrs.  Blanders 
had  anything  to  do  with  his  present  distress,  and  the  return  ob- 
servation of  the  other,  that  he  wondered  would  it  be  any  harm  to 
put  the  least  taste  in  life  more  opium  than  creosote  in  the  mix- 
ture, and  give  him  a  sleep  that  would  keep  him  from  doing  the 
devil's  work  for  a  day  or  two. 

Whether  the  opium  was  put  in  the  "pain  killer"  or  not  re- 
mains to  be  proved. 

That  night  Mr.  Blanders,  Mick  and  the  unhappy  Thade 
O'Halloran  set  out  for  Dublin.  We  cannot  boast  of  any  re- 
markable expedition  in  our  mode  of  travelling  in  Ireland  at  pres- 
ent, but  journeys  from  the  Lakes  to  Dublin  are  express  speed  now 
to  what  they  were  then. 

Having  commenced  the  farce  of  the  toothache,  Mr.  Blanders 
was  obliged  to  keep  it  up.  Indeed,  Mick,  who  had  "scented" 
the  whole  plot,  was  glad,  for  his  own  reasons,  that  it  should  be 
kept  up.  His  attentions  to  the  unhappy  victim  of  his  wife's  clev- 
erness would  have  set  a  more  uneducated  man  mad;  but  Mr. 
Blanders  had  long  gone  through  a  course  of  constant  irritation 
with  the  happiest  results. 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME   A   BANKER.  43 

As  to  Thade,  his  incessant  cries  had  ceased  the  moment  he 
saw  Mick  M'Grath.  Children  have  very  keen  instincts.  Mr. 
Inlanders'  honeyed  words  or  Mrs.  Blanders'  more  forcible  argu- 
ments had  alike  failed  to  comfort  or  subdue  him. 

Mrs.  Blanders  was  not  naturally  cruel;  but  when  she  found 
that  Thade's  cries  were  likely  to  create  an  attraction,  even  out- 
side the  house,  which  would  have  been  *as  undesirable  as  it  was 
unpleasant,  she  flogged  him  into  silence,  if  not  into  submission. 
When  he  was  told  that  Mick  was  going  to  take  him  home  to  father 
and  to  granny,  his  joy  was  nearly  as  destructive  of  the  peace  of 
the  Blanders  household  as  his  grief  had  been  of  its  safety. 

But  a  word  from  Mick  to  "  whist,' '  or  "to  be  aisy,"  was 
enough. 

His  first  look  into  Mick's  fearless  black  eyes  told  him  that 
there  was  no  treachery  there,  and  a  "trust  me,  darlin'  !"  whis- 
pered with  a  look  that  the  intelligent  child  was  by  no  means 
slow  to  take  in,  satisfied  him  that  all  was  right,  even  if  it  did  not 
seem  so. 

Dublin  was  reached  at  last,  and  here  it  was  that  Mick  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  rescue  Thade  in  his  own  fashion. 

Any  one  who  had  known  what  Mr.  Blanders  suffered  in  that 
police  court  must  have  pitied  him.  He  dared  not  open  his  lips 
for  fear  of  discovery.  He  was  partly  helped  by  the  toothache 
invention,  with  which  Mike  had  condoled  on  his  journey,  both 
exteriorly  and  interiorly,  with  the  kindest  expressions  of  sympa- 
thy. It  had  begun  to  dawn  on  him  that  Mick  was  playing  a 
game,  and  he  knew  pretty  well  by  this  time  that  he  was  no 
match  for  a  quick-witted  Irishman. 

And  he  had  visions  of  home.  Let  us  say  it  with  all  possible 
tenderness.  What  man  is  there  of  any  right  feeling,  of  any  re- 
finement, of  any  conscience,  who  does  not  turn  fondly  to  his  do- 
mestic hearth  when  cruel  fate  has  torn  him  from  it  ? 

Mr.  Blanders  was  no  exception  to  the  general  rule;  but  his 
thoughts  were  exceptional,  and  they  were  not  pleasant.  A  tri- 
umphant "  I  told  you  so  !"  was  mild  to  the  greeting  he  expected 
to  get  when  he  reached  Killarney,  minus  Thade   and   minus 


44  FROM   KILLARNEY   TO   NEW  YORK? 

Mick.  And  the  unhappy  man  was  literally  tongue-tied.  He 
dared  not  open  his  lips  in  explanation  or  extenuation.  His  trade 
was  forever  ruined  if  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  been  had  up 
before  a  magistrate  on  a  charge  of  being  drunk  and  disorderly. 
It  is  true,  indeed,  that  his  employers  were  not  very  particular  as 
to  the  character  of  the  persons  who  served.  It  was  a  necessity  of 
the  case.  They  got  the  weeds  which  the  Pope  threw  out  of  his 
garden  into  the  unhappy  field  where  such  weeds  thrcve  apace. 
They  were  obliged  to  admit  that  the  weeds  were  weeds,  but 
what  could  they  do  when  they  could  not  get  anything  else? 
Clearly,  they  had  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain,  and  if  they 
found  that  the  bargain  was  a  very  bad  one  indeed,  that  was  their 
affair.  No  one  had  asked  them  to  undertake  their  dirty  work, 
and  stupid  as  they  were,  and  blinded  by  their  master,  the  devil, 
they  were  perfectly  aware  that  there  was  no  use  in  any  outcry. 
Any  private  short-comings  of  their  emissaries  and  agents  were 
quietly  condoned.  If  they  became  known  to  one  or  two,  they 
were  treated  compassionately.  What  else  could  be  expected, 
they  said,  from  poor  ignorant  Papists,  brought  up  all  their  lives 
in  darkness  and  deceit.  They  xorgot,  or  they  found  it  conven- 
ient to  forget,  that  these  same  Papists  were  supposed  to  be  con- 
verted. It  certainly  would  have  puzzled  some  of  them  to  have 
told  what  they  were  converted  to. 

But  a  public  appearance  in  a  police  court,  "  drunk  and  disor- 
derly"— this,  indeed,  would  have  been  past  forgiveness,  or 
would  have  necessitated  removal  of  the  agent  to  new  quarters. 
An  exposure  such  as  this  could  scarcely  be  got  over.  Mr.  Inlan- 
ders knew  it.  He  might  have  faced  the  society,  but  he  could  not 
have  faced  his  wife. 

Silence,  an  assumption  of  stupidity,  and  even  of  the  stupor  of 
drunkenness,  was  his  only  resource.  It  must  be  admitted  that 
Mick  entered  heartily  into  his  plans,  and  that  he  was  quite  pre- 
pared to  do  all  the  talking. 

"Is  it  drunk  and  disorderly,  you  say?  Faith,  that  chap 
there,"  pointing  to  the  unhappy  souper,  "was  a  little  overcome, 
111  not  deny  it,  nor  the  crathur  wouldn't  hisself  if  he  was  able  to 


OR,    HOW   THADE    BECAME   A   BANKER.  45 

spake  to  your  honor.  But  sure  you'll  forgive  him  this  onct. 
Sure  it  all  came  of  a  bad  toothache  he  got  payin'  rounds  at  St. 
Killian's  Lake  come  last  mid-summer,  and  it  hung  over  him  ever 
since.  Glory  be  to  God,  what  some  men  have  to  pay  for  their 
sins — I  mean  their  virtues." 

Mr.  Blanders  groaned  audibly.  To  be  made  appear  drunk 
and  incapable  was  bad  enough,  but  to  have  himself  put  down  as 
guilty  of  a  Popish  superstition,  and  not  be  able  to  deny  the 
charge,  was  past  bearing. 

"Ah,  thin,  is  it  a  heart  ye  have  in  ye  at  all,  at  all,  or  maybe 
they  left  it  out  for  some  one  else  whin  ye  were  born.  Don't 
ye  hear  the  crathur  groanin',  your  honor's  worship,  sir? 
Sure  it's  sorry  he  is,  an'  he'll  say  a  whole  rosary  for  you — Holy 
Mary  an'  all  the  rest — if  you  let  him  off.  Sure  you  never  see'd 
him  afore,  an'  faith,  I'll  promise  your  honor's  worship,  sir,  you'll 
never  see  him  again." 

Mr.  Blanders  assented  with  another  groan. 

"  Sure  it's  the  bit  of  a  smile  I  see  playin',  like  a  sunbeam,  on 
your  honor's  illigant  mouth,  under  the  purty  bit  ov  hair  you've 
got  on." 

There  was  a  roar  in  court,  in  which  his  honor  heartily  joined. 

"  There,  then,  pay  your  fine  directly,  and  go,  sir.  I'll  let  off 
your  friend  on  account  of  the  toothache,  and  he  may  thank  you 
for  it." 

Mr.  Blanders  thought  he  might.  He  owed  Mick  a  good  deal 
more  than  he  ever  expected  to  repay. 

"  Is  it  five  shillin',  your  honor  ?" 

"  I  told  you  so  before.  Make  haste — I  can't  be  kept  here  all 
day." 

"  Faith,  an'  it's  meself  that  always  knew  me  manners  to  the 
quality  since  Phil  O'Rafferty  put  it  into  me  with  the  thick  end  of 
an  oak-stick.     As  for  delayin'  you,  sure — " 

"Policeman,  take  that  man  out,  and  give  him  seven  days  if 
he  does  not  pay  that  five  shillings  in  ten  minutes." 

"Oh,  your  honor,  you're  hard  entirely  on  a  poor  motherless 
boy.     It's  the  first  time  he's  got  into  a  bit  of  throuble,  and  he  in 


46  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

a  sthrange  counthry  entirely.  Mush  a,  sir,  if  ye  came  down  to 
my  place  and  was  overtook  a  bit,  sure  it's  not  hard  the  gentry 
'ud  be  on  ye." 

A  joke  was  very  well  in  the  way  to  enliven  a  dry  police  case, 
but  the  presiding  magistrate  was  getting  more  than  he  wanted, 
and  he  lost  his  temper. 

"  Pay  that  five  shillings  and  go  to with  you." 

"Faith,  thin,  yer  know,  I  hope  I  know  me  manners  betther 
than  to  be  inthrudin'  meself  on  the  quality.  Sure  it's  takin'  up 
the  room  on  ye  I'd  be  if  I  went  there." 

There  was  another  roar  in  court,  and  several  custodians  of  the 
peace  came  in  from  the  outside  to  see  "  what  the  row  was,"  while 
others  forgot  their  dignity  so  far  as  to  grin  broadly. 

"  Oh,  then,  bad  luck  to  ye  for  a  five  shillin's.  It's  a  dear  five 
shillin's  yez  are  to  me,"  and  Mick  commenced  to  feel  in  every 
pocket  but  the  right  one  for  the  money. 

At  last  he  stooped  down,  and  having  divested  himself  of  his 
left  shoe  and  stocking  with  the  utmost  coolness  produced  the 
money,  part  from  the  heel  and  part  from  the  toe,  and  counted  it 
down  slowly,  utterly  oblivious  of  the  shouts  of  laughter  that  as- 
sailed him. 

"  There's  yer  dirty  five  shillin's,  and  the  d -mend  yez  with 

it,"  he  said,  as  he  put  down  the  last  crooked  sixpence  to  complete 
the  five  shillings,  having  doled  out  each  piece  of  money  as  slowly 
and  as  deliberately  as  he  could. 

"  An'  now,  your  honor,  sir,  I'll  thank  you  for  a  resate." 

"  Pooh,  nonsense,  man,  we  don't  give  receipts  here." 

"  Ah,  then,  the  sorra  stir  me,  or  this  gentleman,  or  the  little 
boy  'ill  stir  out  ov  this  the  day."  And  Mick  deposited  himself 
on  a  seat  with  an  air  that  indicated  it  would  require  at  least  five 
policemen  to  move  him. 

Mr.  Blanders'  feelings  need  scarcely  be  described,  and  Thade, 
with  a  finger  in  his  mouth  and  a  wisdom  beyond  his  age,  clung 
to  his  friend  and  benefactor. 

The  curiosity  of  the  magistrate  was  excited. 

"  Really,  you  must  go  out  of  this,  my  good  man." 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME    A   BANKER.  47 

"  Give  me  the  resale,  yer  honor,  an'  I'm  gone  as  quick  as  ye'd 
swallow  whisky. ' ' 

"What  do  you  want  the  receipt  for,  you  fool?  Don't  you 
know  you  won't  be  taken  up  on  the  same  charge  again  ?" 

"Is  it  what  I  want  the  resate  for,  yer  honor?  Well,  I'll  tell 
yer  honor.  Ye'll  soon  see  the  raison  of  it,"  and  Mick  settled 
himself  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  wants  to  take  his  time  while 
telling  his  story. 

"  Ye  see,  yer  honor,  I'll  die  some  day,  glory  be  to  God  and 
have  mercy  on  me  sinful  sowl,  amin.  And  when  I  get  up  to  the 
gates  of  heaven,  there'll  be  St.  Peter  hisself  there,  waitin'  for  me, 
an'  he'll  say,  ■  It's  welcome  ye  are,  Mick  M'Grath,  but  I  must 
ask  you  a  few  questions  before  I  let  you  in;'  an'  indeed,  yer 
honor,  they  needs  to  be  particular,  for  they  can't  turn  a  poor  boy 
out  when  once  he  gets  in 

"An'  I  says,  *  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  your  holiness.' 

4 '  An'  he  says,  4  Mick  M'Grath,  we're  glad  to  see  you  here, 
an'  we're  goin'  to  let  you  in,  but  you'll  tell  me  first  did  you  pay 
ail  your  debts  when  you  were  on  earth  down  below  there  ?" 

"An'  I'll  say,  '  In  coorse  I  did,  your  holiness,  every  one  of 
them.' 

"  An'  he'll  say  to  me,  *  Well,  if  you  did,  Mick  M'Grath,  where 
are  your  resates  ?' 

"An'  I'll  say  to  him,  'Here's  every  one  of  them,  your  holi- 
ness, barrin'  one.' 

"An'  he'll  say  to  me,  'Mick  M'Grath,  it's  sorry  I  am  to  be 
keepin'  a  fine  boy  like  you  out  in  the  cowld,  along  with  them 
Protestants  that  didn't  know  any  better,  but  I  can't  let  you  in  till 
you  bring  that  one,  an'  ye  must  go  an'  get  it  for  us.' 

"Sure  a  mighty  ill-convanient  thing  it  would  be  for  me  to  be 
goin"1  down  below  lookin'  for  your  honor  to  get  me  resate." 


48  FROM   KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THREE  LETTERS. 


Famine  slaughtered  where  plenty  reigned, 
Starved  mothers  died  ere  their  babes  were  born, 
And — merciful  Father  of  the  forlorn  ! — 
Men  dared  to  say  'twas  by  Thee  ordained. 

P.  O'C.  Mac  L. 

tc  Madame:  I  write  to  inform  you  that  a  person  was  brought  to 
our  hospital  last  night  who,  as  far  as  we  can  ascertain,  is  your 
husband.  He  is  quite  unable  to  give  any  account  of  himself.  In 
fact,  he  has  evidently  met  with  rather  rough  treatment,  as  we 
have  reason  to  think,  from  a  mob. 

"  He  was  brought  here,  however,  by  a  respectable-looking 
countryman,  who  told  us  that  he  took  pity  on  him,  as  he  was 
from  the  same  county  as  himself.  Indeed  this  good  man  seemed 
quite  devoted  to  your  husband  (if  we  are  right  in  our  supposition 
that  our  patient  is  your  husband).  The  man,  whom,  no  doubt, 
you  will  know,  as  he  expressed  himself  very  warmly  about  you, 
[Mrs.  Blunders  expressed  herself  rather  warmly  at  this  point] 
seemed  quite  broken-hearted  at  the  condition  to  which,  I  regret 
to  say,  your  husband  was  reduced.  He  told  him  repeatedly  to 
cheer  up,  that  he  would  be  a  friend  to  him,  that  he  would  be 
sure  to  write  and  tell  the  mistress  all  particulars.  This  assurance 
appeared  to  distress  your  husband  greatly,  as,  no  doubt,  he 
feared  the  effect  it  might  have  on  you.  We  hasten,  however,  to 
assure  you  that  there  is  nothing  really  dangerous  the  matter, 
Mrs.  Souper  (we  conclude  this  is  the  correct  name,  as  Mr.  Michael 
M'Grath  assured  us  expressly  that  it  was).  Mr.  Souper  has  hope- 
lessly broken  his  left  arm,  fractured  the  right  leg,  and  there  is  a 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  49 

rather  deep  incised  wound  on  the  forehead;  he  is,  moreover, 
bruised  in  several  places  rather  severely;  but  with  time,  and  the 
judicious  treatment  for  which  this  hospital  is  famous,  he  will, 
no  doubt,  recover. 

"  It  is  now  more  than  a  week  since  he  was  left  here  by  his 
friend,  Mr.  M'Grath,  who  promised  to  write  you  full  particulars. 
As,  however,  we  have  not  heard  from  you  since,  and  as  Mr. 
M'Grath  has  not  called  here  again,  as  he  promised,  we  think  it 
better  to  write  fully. 

"  Mr.  M'Grath  informed  us  that  he  had  come  up  to  Dublin  in 
company  with  your  husband  and  an  orphan  boy  whom  they  were 
trying  to  rescue  from  some  proselytizers.  He  said  you  expressed 
great  concern  for  the  poor  boy,  and  had  urged  your  husband  to 
come  up  to  Dublin  with  him,  though  he  was  far  from  well.  You 
will  be  glad  to  hear,  he  said,  that  the  boy  was  quite  safe  from 
further  persecution. 

"If  we  understood  him  correctly,  he  said  that  your  husband 
was  apt  at  times  to  take  a  little  more  than  he  could  bear,  never 
being  a  very  strong  man,  and  that  this  was  the  reason  why  you 
asked  him  to  go  up  to  Dublin  with  him.  It  seems  that  he  had 
taken  too  much,  notwithstanding  Mr.  M'Grath's  watchfulness,  on 
the  evening  of  the  day  that  he  was  brought  to  us,  and  that,  though 
he  never  uses  bad  language  at  other  times,  he  has  an  unfortu- 
nate propensity  for  doing  so  when  he  is  at  all  overcome  by  drink. 
On  this  evening,  unfortunately,  he  first  cursed  King  William  and 
then  cursed  the  Pope,  and  was  taken  before  the  magistrate,  and 
fined  for  being  drunk  and  disorderly.  Mr.  M'Grath  said  he  paid 
the  fine  for  him  out  of  his  own  pocket.  Indeed  through  the 
whole  affair  he  appears  to  have  acted  with  the  utmost  delicacy 
and  consideration.  But  afcer  Mr.  Souper  was  released,  he  became 
worse  than  before,  and  created  another  row  in  a  low  public 
house,  where  he  was  maltreated  by  two  parties;  as  a  consequence 
of  his  cursing  both  Catholics  and  Protestants,  both  parties  were 
offended. 

"We  are  under  the  apprehension  now  that  his  headway  be 
slightly  injured,  but  pray  do  not  make  yourself  uneasy  on  this 


50  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

subject.  Our  reason  for  thinking  so  is  his  very  strange  manner. 
He  refuses  to  reply  to  any  questions,  he  will  not  give  his  relig- 
ious denomination,  and  he  keeps  his  head  constantly  covered  in 
a  way  which  suggests  a  morbid  fear  of  observation.  This  is  es- 
pecially noticeable  when  the  Protestant  chaplain  makes  his  visit. 
Indeed,  he  has  done  his  utmost  to  induce  Mr.  Souper  to  converse 
with  him,  but  he  finds  it  impossible  to  get  even  a  word  from  him 
or  to  see  his  face.  Under  all  the  circumstances,  though,  we 
again  repeat,  there  is  no  danger.  We  think  it  better  that  you 
should  come  up  to  Dublin,  if  possible,  at  once.  We  have  less 
hesitation  in  making  this  request,  as  Mr.  M'Grath  informed  us  that 
you  are  in  affluent  circumstances,  and  that  you  devote  your  time 
and  money  to  works  of  charity  amongst  your  fellow  Catholics. 
"  I  beg  to  subscribe  myself,  madame,  with  profound  respect, 
'  *  Your  obedient  servant, 

"JOHN  MULLINS, 
"  House -Steward  at  the Hospital \  Dublin" 

"P.  S. — You  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure,  for  writing  so  familiarly, 
but  Mr.  M'Grath  said  so  much  of  your  amicability  and  disinter- 
ested benevolence,  that  I  feel  already  as  if  I  had  the  honor  of 

your  acquaintance. 

"P.  S. — In  compliance  with  Mr.  M'Grath's  direction,  I  address 
the  letter  to  Mrs.  Blanders,  for  Mrs.  Souper,  New  Street,  Killarney. 
He  says  that  Mrs.  Blanders  is  very  intimate  with  you — in  fact, 
quite  a  second  self — and  that  by  addressing  you  thus  the  shock 
will  be  broken  to  you." 

Mrs.  Blanders'  feelings  on  receipt  of  this  communication  will 
scarcely  bear  description.  The  catastrophe  was  so  appalling  and 
so  wholly  unexpected,  that  she  was  simply  stunned  into  silence. 

But  she  was  a  woman  of  action.  As  soon  as  she  could  think, 
her  first  thought  was,  what  was  to  be  done  ?  She  hod  not  one 
moment's  doubt  as  to  what  course  Mick  had  thought  fit  to  pur- 
sue. Having  disposed  of  Mr.  Blanders,  he  would  certainly 
return  to  Killarney  wilh  the  child,  and  what  an  exposure  there 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME   A    BANKER.  5 1 

would  be.  Clearly  the  place  would  be  far  too  hot  for  her  and  for 
her  hapless  husband.  Their  missionary  work  was  done  there,  at 
all  events.  What  was  left  but  to  shake  the  dust  from  her  feet, 
and  to  go  where  the  Gospel  message  would  be  received  with  a 
little  more  success  and  gratitude? 

Mrs.  Blanders  remained  in  profound  reflection  for  ten  minutes, 
and  then  she  wrote  a  letter. 

"To  the  Secretary  of  the  Society  for  the  Conversion  of  the  Irish 

Nation, 

"  Reverend  Sir: — The  long  years  of  arduous  work  which  we 
have  spent  amongst  an  ungrateful  people  have  at  last  been  crown- 
ed with  a  wonderful  success,  but  at  the  cost  of  great  suffering  to 
my  devoted  and  zealous  husband.  It  is  well  that  we  have  not 
sought  any  temporal  gain,  or  we  should  have  been  sadly  disap- 
pointed. We  have,  indeed,  not  counted  the  cost.  Our  house 
has  been  open  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night  to  those  who  de- 
sired to  hear  the  Gospel  message;  and  my  husband  has  been 
travelling,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  through  the  surrounding 
districts  with  the  Word  of  Life.  We  have  distributed  gratuitously 
the  2,000  Bibles  you  sent  us,  and  we  hope  when  the  Irish- 
speaking  population  of  this  district  has  learned  to  read  and  speak 
English,  they  will  be  perused  with  great  attention,  and  that  the 
precious  seed  which  we  have  sown  will  bear  fruit  at  last  in  this 
unfruitful  soil. 

"A  great  opportunity  of  saving  a  poor,  benighted  soul  has  oc- 
curred here  lately.  You  may  be  assured,  and  can  assure  the  so- 
ciety, that  we  took  care  it  should  not  be  lost. 

"  One  of  the  most  respectable  farmers  in  this  district  was  dying 
of  famine  fever,  and  my  husband  scarcely  left  him  in  his  last 
hours,  administering  with  the  tenderest  care  to  his  spiritual  and 
temporal  comforts.  The  poor  man  was  overjoyed  to  have  his  com- 
pany, but  the  priest,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  interfered,  and  drove 
my  husband  away.  Late  at  night  the  dying  man  was,  however, 
most  anxious  that  his  child  should  be  rescued  from  the  hands  of 
the  priest.*     He  entreated  my  husband  to  take  the  boy  home, 

*Such  lies  are  frequently  told  in  the  reports  of  the  societies. 


52  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

and  you  may  be  assured  we  know  our  duty  to  the  society  by 
which  we  are  employed  too  well  to  refuse  such  a  request.  The 
difficulty  was,  however,  how  to  secure  the  poor  little  child.  But 
the  long  experience  of  my  husband,  and  his  fertility  in  resources, 
suggested  an  expedient. 

"On  entering  very  late  at  night,  we  found  the  father  was  dead, 
and  the  boy,  who  is  about  seven  years  of  age,  was  sleeping  by  his 
side.  I  went  with  my  husband,  as  on  such  an  occasion  I  could 
not  listen  to  the  promptings  of  flesh  and  blood,  or  consider  the 
severity  of  the  weather,  though  just  recovering  from  severe  illness 
caught  in  the  discharge  of  duty.  We  took  the  poor  boy  so  quietly 
that  he  did  not  awaken  until  the  following  morning,  when  he 
found  himself  in  a  comfortable  bed  in  our  house,  and  was  soon 
reconciled  to  the  change.  But  we  were  obliged  to  get  him  out 
of  Killarney  as  quick  as  possible,  as  my  husband  could  not  prove 
that  the  father  had  given  the  child  up  to  him,  having  no  witness 
present,  and  of  course  the  priest  would  have  sworn  that  the  man 
died  a  good  Catholic.  Your  society  knows  how  prudent  we  have 
been,  and  how  we  have  always  avoided  anything  that  could  com- 
promise us  in  the  eyes  of  the  public,  or  bring  the  mission  into 
difficulties,  unless  when  some  very  serious  interest  was  at  stake, 
when,  of  course,  we  would  do  our  duty  regardless  of  consequences 
from  which  we  know  the  society  has  sufficient  power  to  protect  us. 
We  got  the  boy  up  to  Dublin  last  night,  but  unfortunately  my 
husband  lost  him  in  a  crowd,  and  having  attempted  to  address  a 
few  words  of  Scriptural  instruction  (very  unwisely,  I  must  add,  but 
his  zeal  has  no  limit)  to  some  sailors,  he  was  set  on  by  them  and 
severely  injured.  It  will  be  some  weeks  before  he  will  be  able 
again  to  travel,  and  the  expense  for  medical  attendance  and  lodg- 
ing in  a  private  house  will  be  very  heavy.  But  we  are  sure  your  so- 
ciety will  amply  compensate  him  for  what  he  has  suffered  in  your 
service.  One  partial  failure  this  time  will  insure  success  on  the 
next  occasion,  and,  as  the  boy  was  actually  brought  to  Dublin  by 
my  husband,  we  expect  to  be  paid  the  usual  grant  of  ^50  for 
saving  a  child,  besides  expenses.  The  boy's  name  can  be  entered 
on  the  books  of  the  society,  but  prudence  will  require  that  his 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME   A   BANKER.  53 

own  name  should  not  be  entered.  You  might  put  him  down  as 
Michael  Murphy,  aged  thirteen,  and,  for  the  same  reason,  it  is  well 
to  alter  the  age.  He  may  be  entered,  also,  as  sent  to  America,  to 
save  him  from  the  persecution  he  would  have  to  undergo  if  he  re- 
mained in  this  country. 

4 'Hoping  to  have  a  remittance  from  you  at  your  earliest  con- 
venience, to  cover  expenses,         I  remain, 

Reverend  Sir,  etc.,  etc., 
Sophia  Blanders. 

"  P.  S. — I  think  we  had  better  leave  Killarney  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible.    We  could  do  more  good  now  in  any  other  place." 

Mrs.  Blonders  read  her  composition  over  several  times  very 
carefully,  and  felt  satisfied  with  the  result.  She  knew  that  ques- 
tions would  not  be  asked  nor  very  minute  inquiries  made  as  to 
the  truth  of  her  statement.  In  fact,  the  whole  business  required 
a  great  deal  of  "  confidence  "  and  a  very  large  amount  of  make- 
believe  on  the  part  of  those  principally  concerned,  and  when  all 
were  equally  interested  in  multiplying  statistics,  there'  was  no 
question  about  the  process  by  which  they  were  made  up. 

Mrs.  Blanders  received  her  money  in  due  course,  with  warm 
commendation  for  her  humanity  and  devotion.  She  went  up  to 
Dublin  as  soon  as  possible,  and  after  she  had  relieved  her  feelings 
and  done  her  duty  by  informing  her  husband  that  he  was  a  fool, 
she  subsided. 

Matters  had  turned  out  better  than  she  had  expected;  in  fact, 
almost  as  well  as  if  poor  Thade  had  been  in  the  Hawk's  Nest. 

Her  husband  knew  so  well  what  his  wife's  opinion  of  him  was, 
that  he  could  bear  to  hear  it  reiterated  without  much  concern. 
He  was,  in  fact,  both  thankful  and  surprised  to  find  that  he 
escaped  so  easily. 

LETTER  NO.  3. 

To  Mr.  Myles  O'Grady,  Esq., 

In  the  street  near  me  Mother's  house, 
Killarney, 

August  the  one,  18 — 
Respectful  Sir:  I  write  these  few  lines,  hopia'  it  will  find 


54  FROM   KILLARNEY   TO   NEW   YORK; 

you  as  well  as  it  leaves  me  at  present,  barrin'  the  yellow  faver, 
for  which  we're  in  quaranted,  which  was  brought  on  boord  in  a 
hin-coop,  which  a  boy  of  the  Sullivans'  came  in  from  New  York, 
looking  for  the  chickens  which  his  mother  promised  to  send  him 
from  the  ould  country;  but  there  was  none  of  them  left,  for  we 
had  an  awful  storm,  glory  be  to  God,  at  sea,  an'  went  part  way 
down  to  the  bottom  in  the  ocean,  but  come  up  again  quite  right, 
praise  be  to  his  holy  name;  and  the  hins  were  drowned  dead,  and 
there  was  not  one  left  above  wather,  that  the  poor  boy  cried  a 
pailful  of  tears;  but  sure  where  was  the  use  an'  the  distance  so 
great  ? 

"  I  axed  the  captain — a  civil-spoken  little  gentleman  enough  for 
an  Englishman — how  many  miles  it  was  to  land  the  time  we  was 
going  down  the  sea,  an'  he  said  two  Irish  miles  was  equal  to 
three  ov  theirs,  an'  that  shortened  the  road  wonderful.  Hon- 
ored sir,  I  never  was  let  land  on  the  pier,  but  I  am  writin'  this  by 
a  boy  that  is  a  wonderful  scollard,  entirely,  entirely.  Sure  he's 
got  the  finest  character  yez  ever  seed,  an'  his  testimonials,  as  he 
calls  the  bits  iv  paper  he  has  by  him,  is  signed  by  all  the  clargy 
in  Ireland,  and  more  than  all  the  gentry.  Dear,  dear,  what  it  is 
to  have  the  book-larnin'  !  I  wish  me  mother  had  sent  me  to 
school  with  a  stick,  an'  I'd  be  doin'  this  meself,  so  ye'd  know  it 
was  me  own  writin'.  'Deed  and  sure,  respectful  sir,  I'm  told  by 
some  ov  the  boys  here  that  this  chap's  testimonials  is  superior  to 
his  character,  an'  no  wonder,  with  all  the  priests  to  the  fore. 
Well,  well,  I  hope  it's  takin'  the  shine  out  ov  them  Yankees 
he'll  be  yet,  for  the  honor  and  glory  of  ould  Ireland. 

"It's  a  quare  place  entirely,  this.  Would  yez  believe  it,  now, 
respectful  sir,  but  the  hoight  ov  the  quality  live  in  brown  stone 
houses,  an'  they  say  they're  illigant  entirely;  but,  faith,  a  brown 
mud  cabin  would  do  the  likes  of  me,  if  I  had  the  bit  of  ground 
round  it,  an'  no  landlord  to  pay  rent  to  but  meself. 

"Honorable  sir,  will  you  tell  the  ould  mother  that  it's  not 
forgettin'  her  I'll  be;  but  we  can't  go  yet  on  land,  for  there's 
nothin'  to  walk  on  but  the  wather,  or  they  wouldn't  keep  me 
long  here.     They  say  it's  twenty-one  days  we'll  be  in  it,  which 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME   A   BANKER.  55 

is  equal  to  three  weeks  at  home.  Bad  luck  to  them,  with  their 
quare  ways  of  countin',  that  puts  a  poor  boy  out  entirely.  Ye 
may  tell  the  poor  woman  that  I'll  send  her  a  present  soon.  As  I 
know  she  likes  what's  nate  and  plain,  an'  not  showy,  I've  bought 
a  nice  bright  orange-colored  kerchief,  that  she'll  look  like  a  rale 
lady  in  goin'  to  Mass,  as  it  will  have  been  twice  over  the  says,  as 
the  captain's  boy  brought  it  from  one  of  the  men  in  the  East  In- 
dies, where  they  don't  want  any  clothes,  and  so  can  part  with 
them  chape.  Lord  save  us  all,  what  a  quare  place  the  world  is 
entirely,  that  the  people  can't  even  wear  their  clothin'  itself. 
They  tells  me  here  they  have  got  a  wonderful  new  invention 
that'll  do  away  with  the  letters  entirely;  and  sure  it  would  be  a 
blessin'  to  the  young  chaps  that  won't  want  to  learn  them,  for  all 
the  writin'  'ill  be  done  by  touchin'  bits  ov  wires,  and  they  say  it 
is  done  by  the  quare  thing  up  in  the  sky  which,  glory  be  to  God, 
I  never  saw  but  once,  and  then  it  was  me  brother  saw  it,  for  I 
was  too  long  wakening  up  when  he  called  me. 

"They  tell  me,  too,  there's  a  place  up  North  where  the  sun 
never  sets  part  of  the  time  and  never  rises  the  other  part,  and  sure 
I  told  them  it's  a  pity  they  can't  persuade  the  gentleman  to  do  it 
more  regular.  But  don't  think,  respectful  sir,  that  I  got  a  fool 
since  I  left  Killarney,  and  believe  them;  faith,  no  sir — your  honor, 
I  mane — I  took  good  care  to  let  them  know  they  need  not  put  a 
comet  her  on  me  with  their  lies,  an'  I  afther  doin'  that  souper 
woman.  Oh,  thin,  your  honor,  only  it's  afraid  I  am  I'd  be  kilt 
dead  entirely  and  put  into  prison  afther  to  reflect  on  it  by  the 
peelers,  but  I'd  have  liked  to  have  stay'd  at  home  to  see  the  fun 
out.  An'  that  puts  me  in  mind  that  I've  come  to  the  beginning 
of  me  letther,  which  I  forgot  before.  The  boy  that's  writin'  this 
says  this  should  have  come  first;  but  sure  if  he  takes  a  clane  piece 
of  paper  and  puts  this  end  at  the  beginning,  it'll  be  all  the  same, 
as  the  chaps  is  comin'  in  and  out  with  nothin'  to  do,  an'  all 
helpm'  each  other  while  we're  doin'  this  writin',  an'  makin'  re- 
marks on  every  word  I  say,  which  is  makin'  his  hand  shake  so 
that  I'm  sure  his  own  mother  would  not  know  the  writin',  poor 
woman,  though  I  don't  suppose  she  couid  read  it  much  easier  if 
she  did. 


56  FROM   KILLARNEY  TO   NEW  YORK; 

"Well,  of  all  the  desateful  sarpints,  since  Eve  and  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  that  woman's  the  worst.  The  lies  she  told  about  that 
boy  would  fill  one  of  her  own  soup-kettles  over  and  over,  and  it 
would  not  be  short  measure  'ud  be  in  it,  either.  Sure  I  thought 
of  her  when  we  were  going  to  be  drowned  comin'  over  in  the  sea, 
and  the  man  kept  turning  the  wheel  to  keep  the  vessel  up ;  but 
we  prayed  to  the  Holy  Virgin  and  the  blessed  Mother  of  God, 
that  never  refused  the  prayer  of  a  poor  Irish  boy,  that  died  dead 
for  the  true  religion  over  and  over  thousands  of  years  ago,  before 
her  and  her  soup  kettles  were  even  heard  of.  But  the  boy  that's 
noldin'  the  pen  says  his  hand  is  aching  with  listening  to  me  and 
putting  down  all  this,  bad  manners  to  him.  I  believe  if  it  was  a 
faction  fight  he  was  in,  his  hand  would  not  ache  on  him  so  aisy. 

"  Anyway,  I  must  hurry  up  now,  for  I  hear  we  are  just  going 
to  land,  and  I  want  to  get  round  to  the  stores,  for  that's  the 
quare  name  they  have  for  the  shops  here,  an'  I  suppose  it's  be- 
cause they  have  such  a  lot  of  things  stored  up  in  them,  an'  not 
like  Kitty  Brady's  little  general  shop  in  Killarney,  where  they 
never  had  anything  particular  except  a  few  dip  candles  and  a  pipe 
or  two.  I'm  told  there's  plenty  of  employment  to  be  had  for  any- 
body, an'  I'm  goin'  round  to  all  the  places  to  ask  if  they  have 
got  room  for  a  vacancy,  and  that  I'm  agreeable  to  take  it. 

"  Hopin\  respectful  sir,  we'll  meet  in  that  land  of  eternal  glory, 
where  the  worm  never  dies  and  the  fire  is  never  quenched, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

Mick  M'Grath. 

"An'  for  the  boy  that  wrote  for  me,  if  it  'ud  be  plasin'  to  your 
honor,  sir,  to  tell  his  mother  that  he's  from  Killarney,  and  that 
he'll  write  to  her  when  he  gets  on  land. 

"  P.S. — I  hear  now  it's  not  the  yellow  faver  that  we  had  at  all, 
at  all,  that  it's  further  up  the  country,  and  is,  as  you  may  say,  a 
pleasure  comin'.  It's  a  bill  of  health  we've  been  in.  I'm  sure 
with  their  bills  an'  their  stores,  it's  hard  to  know  the  manin'  of 
a  word  they  say.  Sure  I  thought  it  was  when  a  man  was  sick  the 
doctor  sent  in  a  bill.     Faith,  an'  it's  fine  times  they  must  have 


OR,    HOW   THADE   BECAME  A   BANKER.  57 

here  if  they  can  send  in  a  bill  for  health  as  well  as  for  sickness; 
but  poor  Ireland  was  always  an  oppressed  country.  The  heat  is 
awful,  an'  I'm  sartain  sure  if  I  live  here  much  longer  that  I'll  die 
an'  the  half  of  me  'ill  be  melted  away,  and  then  one-half  of  me 
'ill  be  looking  for  the  other  half  at  the  day  of  judgment  in  the 
streets  of  New  York,  Amin,  Glory  be  to  God;  but  I  suppose  the 
holy  angels  'ill  know  which  of  us  is  which,  an'  won't  be  mixm* 
up  one  with  the  other,  and  not  of  the  true  religion. 

"P.P.S. — Here  I  am  at  the  end  and  haven't  said  the  beginning 
yet.  Sure  I  suppose  Thade  tould  you  all  he  could,  the  era. 
thur,  the  night  I  put  him  in  at  the  hall  door,  and  went  right  oft 
to  America  that  minute.  Take  care  of  that  boy,  your  worship. 
He'll  be  a  credit  to  ould  Ireland  yet.  I  know  you'll  take  him 
an'  give  nim  a  bit  o'  larnin',  and  don't  let  him  forget  poor  Mick, 
an'  tell  Ellen  I'll  sind  for  her." 


5&  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORB.V 


PART     II 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHERE   AM    I   GOING  ? 

But  this  my  black  despair,  when  thou  wert  dying 
No  breath  of  prayer  did  waft  thy  soul  to  heaven. 

B.J.  Ho 

"Oh,  my  God,  my  God,  where  am  I  going?" 

"  Hush,  my  dear,  you'll  only  make  yourself  worse." 

But  still  she  cried  and  moaned,  as  only  the  dying  can  cry  and 
moan,  "  Oh,  my  God,  my  God,  where  am  I  going?" 

A  pitiful  sight  it  was,  indeed,  and  one  to  make  the  angels 
weep. 

Even  her  husband's  love  could  not  soothe  her  now.  She  knew 
it  could  not  pass  with  her  over  the  terrible  barrier  between  life 
and  death. 

But  one   short  year  ago  she  had  come,  a  gay  and  thoughtless 

bride,  to  her  husband's  splendid  mansion  in Avenue,  New 

York. 

Death  !  What  had  she  to  do  with  death,  when  wedding  con- 
gratulations were  still  ringing  in  her  ears,  and  wedding  presents 
were  all  untouched  by  time  ? 

Death  !  What  had  she  to  do  with  death,  when  her  young  life 
was  just  beginning,  when  the  young  blood  was  bounding  joyously 
through  her  veins,  and  the  tenderest  love  of  a  noble  man  was 
all  her  own  ? 

Death  !  If  the  idea  had  crossed  her  mind  at  all,  it  was  only  to 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  59 

think  that  it  might  come  to  others,  not,  certainly,  to  her.  For 
the  young  have  a  strange  way  of  thinking  death  impossible  for 
themselves,  but  possible  for  all  others. 

Death  !     She  was  face  to  face  with  it  now,  and  she  knew  it. 

A  man  face  to  face  with  a  savage  animal — with  a  roaring  lion 
— with  a  raging  tiger,  would  have  had  less  fear.  The  possibility, 
however  vague,  of  escape — the  chance,  however  slight,  of  defeat- 
ing his  enemy — the  peril,  so  great  as  to  rouse  every  nerve,  to  de- 
mand every  thought  for  the  one  purpose  of  self-help — this  would 
have  lessened,  if  it  would  not  altogether  have  deadened  fear. 

But  she  was  face  to  face  with  death,  and  she  knew  it. 

Scant  time  to  prepare  for  that  which  would  need  a  life-time  of 
preparation,  and  pitiful  ignorance  of  how  to  prepare. 

There  was  no  reprieve.  In  a  few  hours  all  would  be  over. 
Every  alleviation  that  wealth  and  love  could  give  was  hers;  but 
these  very  alleviations  seemed  a  cruel  mockery  now.  What 
could  wealth  do  for  her  ?  Nothing.  If  all  the  gold  and  all  the 
jewels  and  all  the  wealth  of  the  whole  world  could  have  been 
brought  to  her  and  laid  at  her  feet,  it  would  have  been  just  as 
much  use  or  comfort  to  her  now  as  a  stone  lying  on  the  road- 
side. 

She  looked  round  the  room,  with  its  sumptuous  arrangements, 
its  costly  mirrors,  its  silken  hangings,  its  golden  ornaments,  and 
she  smiled  to  herself  a  smile  of  utter  misery.  What  use  was  all 
this  to  her  now  ?  As  much  use  to  her,  and  no  more,  as  one  of 
the  brown  stones  of  which  her  house  was  built.  And  yet  she 
knew  there  were  people  who  envied  her  this  brown  stone  house 
with  all  its  costly  appurtenances. 

Love  !  What  good  could  that  do  her  now,  except  to  add  a 
deeper  pang  to  the  last  agony  ? 

Ah  !  if  love  could  have  saved  her,  she  would  have  been  saved. 

Her  husband  sat  moaning  out  his  anguish  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed.    Her  baby  had  been  taken  away — she  did  not  even  notice  it. 

There  was  something  now  which  claimed  her  for  its  own — 
something  which  demanded  all  her  strength.  For  one  who  had 
been,  as  men  call  it,  nursed  in  the  lap  of  affluence — for  one  who 


(50  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK' 

had  been  an  idol  at  home,  and  a  yet  greater  idol,  if  possible,  in 
her  new  home — there  was  scarce  a  trace  of  selfishness  in  her 
character.  Loving  and  lovable,  gentle  and  tender,  true  and 
faithful,  caring  less  than  most  young  girls  for  the  attractions  of 
society  or  for  her  own  attractions — she  only  wanted  one  thing; 
and  in  that  supreme  hour  all  that  she  possessed  could  not  com- 
pensate for  that  want  or  purchase  it  for  her. 

She  could  not  be  satisfied  with  platitudes.  A  man  in  moment- 
ary danger  of  death  will  not  thank  you  for  assurances  that  he 
may  not  be  in  such  peril,  after  all. 

Her  husband  had  tried  to  comfort  her,  at  first,  in  this  way ;  but 
he  saw  it  was  useless.  What  was  he  to  say  ?  What  was  he  to 
do  ?  He  !  why  he  had  not  been  in  any  place  of  worship  six 
times  in  his  life,  and  then  he  went,  not  to  worship  God,  nor  to 
pray  for  pardon  for  his  sins — no,  it  was  to  hear  some  popular 
preacher,  a  man  who,  living  himself  a  life  that  even  his  friends 
could  scarcely  call  moral,  yet  dared  to  take  the  name  of  the  Liv- 
ing God  in  vain  by  preaching  a  Christianity  of  his  own  invention. 

He  was  not  the  man  to  help  the  soul  in  that  terrible  hour.  The 
husband  would  not  allow  him  inside  his  house,  though  he  would 
pass  an  hour  listening  to  his  preaching  as  he  would  pass  an  hour 
at  the  opera  or  the  theatre. 

There  are  stem  realities  in  life  which  need  something  more  than 
words. 

She  only  noticed  the  baby  once.  It  was  June,  and  the  summer 
roses  were  giving  out  all  their  fragrance — such  fragance,  at  least, 
as  they  can  give  in  a  crowded  city  like  New  York.  A  few  fresh 
buds,  bathed  with  dew,  were  lying  on  her  bed.  She  took  one  in 
her  hand,  and  with  a  look  of  unutterable  love  and  anguish,  she 
Said: 

"  Call  her  Rosaline." 

There  was  no  need  of  words.     He  understood. 

A  fanciful  name — a  poetical  name;  not  one  to  remind  her  of  a 
saint  or  of  holy  things.  Not  one  to  help  her  to  prepare  in  any 
way  for  the  death  which  must  come  to  her  also. 

Again  the  poor  dying  girl  moaned,  "Oh,  my  God,  my  God  I 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME   A  BANKER.  6 1 

where  am  I  going  ?"  She  knew  the  name  of  God,  and  that  was 
nearly  all  she  knew  of  religion.  Time  and  eternity  seemed  to 
have  changed  places  in  the  minds  of  those  who  had  educated 
her.  Everything  in  this  world  was  treated  as  if  it  was  to  be  eter- 
nal, as  if  there  could  not  be  any  change,  as  if  it  were  all  to  go  on 
forever. 

Eternity,  if  thought  of  at  all,  was  treated  as  some  vague,  indefi- 
nite, wholly  unimportant  matter.  It  did  not  seem  worth  a 
thought.     Certainly  no  serious  thoughts  were  given  to  it. 

But  now  this  girl-bride  was  face  to  face  with  eternity,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  should  never  have  thoaght  of  anything 
else. 

How  she  would  have  envied  Tim  O'Halloran's  death -bed  ! 
How  willingly  now  would  she  have  changed  places  with  the  poor, 
famine -starved  Irish  peasant,  whom  once  she  had  been  taught  to 
despise  !  What  would  she  not  have  given  for  one  little  minute  of 
their  glorious  faith,  their  sublime  hope,  their  perfect  charity  ! 

But  as  we  live,  so  we  shall  die,  one  and  all.  We  have  had 
time  enough  given  us  to  arrange  for  the  future;  if  we  have  not 
availed  ourselves  of  the  time,  the  fault  is  our  own. 

Mr.  Maxwell  did  not  know  what  to  do.  How  could  he  offer 
the  consolations  his  poor  wife  needed  so  much,  when  he  was  so 
utterly  ignorant  of  their  source  ?  He  had  literally  been  without 
God  in  the  world.  How  was  He  to  be  founa  now,  who  had  never 
been  sought  until  now  ?  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  mercy  is  prom- 
ised even  at  the  last  moment,  that  there  is  hope  for  all ;  but  it  is 
too  often  forgotten  that  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  put  ourselves 
in  such  a  condition  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  mercy  willfully 
and  premeditatedly. 

Even  the  heathens  believe  that  there  is  a  God,  and  worship 
Him — ignorantly,  it  is  true — yet  they  do  worship.  But  what  shall 
we  say  of  those  who  bear  the  name  of  Christians,  and  yet  who 
never  bend  their  knees  to  their  Maker,  never  offer  Him  the 
homage  of  their  prayers  or  of  their  praises,  who  never  utter  His 
holy  name  except  to  blaspheme  it  ? 

And  yet  Mr   and  Mrs.  Maxwell  were  not  of  this  class.     They 


62  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

were  what  the  world  calls  good,  well-meaning  people.  They 
did  no  evil,  indeed,  to  any  one — they  were  merciful  as  those  who 
know  not  God  may  be  merciful — to  every  one  except  themselves. 

But  what  a  terrible  exception.  Let  us  suppose  that  we  have 
been  the  means  of  saving  the  whole  world  by  our  prayers,  and 
tears,  and  penances,  yet  that  our  own  souls  were  lost  !  That, 
at  the  great  Day  of  Doom,  we  should  see  thousands  entering 
heaven,  and  should  be  the  means  of  their  having  done  so,  and 
yet  should  find  ourselves  condemned  to  hell.  What  consolation 
would  it  give  us,  that  they  had  been  saved  while  we  had  been 
lost — that  they  should  listen  to  the  songs  cf  the  angels,  while  we 
groaned  in  anguish  at  the  curses  of  the  demons  ? 

Mr.  Maxwell  did  not  feel  as  his  wife  felt.  He  felt  for  her, 
certainly,  as  men  do  feel  when  the  light  of  their  life  is  about  to 
be  extinguished — as  men  feel  when  they  think  the  world  can 
never  again  afford  them  a  moment's  happiness. 

But  we  cannot  compare  the  feelings  of  a  man  on  the  point  of 
perishing  from  a  violent  death  with  the  feelings  of  one  who  merely 
looks  on  at  danger. 

Mr.  Maxwell  was  not  face  to  face  with  death.  He  had  not  to 
ask  himself,  "  Where  am  I  going  ?"  He  was  not  in  the  position 
of  one  whose  life  is  counted  by  hours,  if  not  by  minutes. 

But  his  wife,  his  bride,  his  love,  to  her  had  come  the  agony  of 
death — in  no  dulling  stupor  of  insensibility,  which  sends  so  many 
souls  unconscious  to  their  doom — souls  who  might  have  prepared 
for  it  before  this  came,  but  did  not. 

To  her  had  come  the  agony  of  death — not  as  it  comes  to  many, 
in  such  anguish  that  pain  almost  deadens  every  sense,  so  that  the 
soul  is  unable  to  realize  the  terror  that  is  coming — no;  her  life 
was  ebbing  away,  yet  her  soul  was  quite  able  to  ncte  each 
change,  each  advance  of  the  fell  destroyer,  Death. 

The  saints  who  have  lain  dying — who  have  cried  out  in  trans- 
ports of  adoring  joy,  "  When  shall  I  be  in  heaven  ?" — they  have 
lived  for  heaven,  and  now  they  reap  their  reward  in  a  foretaste  of 
its  joy. 

The  wicked  have  lived  for  hell. 


OR,  HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.         63 

It  is  as  awful  as  it  is  true. 

The  wicked  have  lived  for  hell,  and  now  they  have  a  foretaste 
of  what  is  prepared  for  them — of  what  they  have  chosen. 

And  the  poor,  dying  girl  had  lived  for  hell.  Slit  knew  it  now, 
alas !  too  late. 

She  had  her  choice,  as  every  mortal  has,  and  she  had  chosen. 
Her  choice  was  none  the  less  deliberate  because  it  was  not  made 
with  any  loud  expressions  of  blasphemy  or  defying  of  God.  She 
had  simply  and  quietly  passed  God  by.  She  could  not  profess 
ignorance  of  Him.  She  said  in  a  general  way  that  God  had  been 
very  good  to  her;  but  even  this  goodness  had  not  touched  her 
heart — had  not  made  her  think  of  Him.  She  was  simply  indif- 
ferent— but  her  indifference  was  sin,  and  she  knew  it  now. 

She  did  not  think — that  would  have  been  excuse  enough  once; 
but  she  was  face  to  face  with  realities  now,  and  she  knew  she 
dared  not  make  such  excuses.  She  knew  now  that  it  was  her 
duty  to  have  thought.  She  knew  now  that  God  had  given  her  a 
mind  and  an  intellect  that  she  might  use  it  for  Him,  and  she  had 
used  it  for  the  devil. 

What  had  her  thoughts  been  occupied  with  ?  The  world,  its 
cares  and  pleasures,  herself — with  precisely  those  very  things 
which  God  had  expressly  forbidden.  Certainly  she  had  not 
broken  those  laws  of  God  which  were  the  laws  of  her  country. 
This  was  all  the  world  asked  from  her.  She  must  not  offend 
against  the  code  of  morals  which  the  world  has  condescended  to 
sanction.  There  must  be  an  outside  observance  of  some  kind  of 
morality  and  order.  It  is  the  devil's  reluctant  tribute  to  Al- 
mighty God.  The  world,  for  its  own  sake,  is  obliged  to  enforce 
some  rule — a  proof,  were  proof  needed,  how  necessary  rule  is. 


64  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW   YORK; 


CHAPTER  II. 

BLOOD-GUILTINESS. 

The  guilt  of  another  !  God  help  that  soul 
That  bears  such  a  burden  of  sin  and  fears, 

One  only  art  can  wipe  out  the  crime — 
A  life-long  penance  of  pain  and  tears. 


M.F.  C  = 


"  Where  is  Kathleen?" 

Mr.  Maxwell  thought,  and  with  apparent  reason,  that  his  wife', 
mind  was  wandering. 

"Kathleen?" 

"Yes." 

But  there  seemed  no  sign  of  wandering,  though  the  voice  had 
grown  perceptibly  weaker. 

If  she  had  asked  for  her  baby,  or  for  some  near  and  dear 
friend,  he  would  not  hive  been  surprised;  but  Kathleen  was  an 
Irish  servant — the  only  Irish  servant,  indeed,  in  that  large  estab- 
lishment. Her  place  was  an  humble  one;  but  she  was  a  smart 
girl,  and  would  soon  rise  to  a  far  better  position. 

*'  My  darling,  what  can  you  want  with  Kathleen?" 

"  She  knows  something  about  religion,  I  am  sure;  they  say  all 
these  Irish  servants  do.  Their  priests  do  something  for  them 
when  they  are  dying.  Oh,  Willie,  Willie!"  she  cried,  and 
wrung  her  poor  hands  in  anguish,  "it  is  hard  to  die,  it  is  hard 
to  die!" 

"  My  darling,  what  should  you  be  afraid  of?  You  never  did 
any  harm." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  God. ' ' 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME  A  BANKER.  65 

"  But  they  say  He  is  merciful.  Surely,  surely  He  cannot  be 
hard  on  you." 

"  He  is  merciful;  but  if  the  Bible  is  true,  lie  is  merciful  only 
to  those  who  have  served  Him  faithfully.  What  have  I  ever  done 
for  Him  ?" 

True;  what  had  she  done  for  God  ?  Nothing.  And  she  knew 
it  now,  when  she  was  face  to  face  with  death. 

Nothing ! 

We  do  something  for  those  whom  we  love.  We  are  never 
weary  of  doing  for  them.  Our  hearts  are  full  of  desire  to  please 
them,  to  surprise  them  with  some  act  of  gratitude,  of  affection. 

"If  you  love  Me,  keep  My  commands."  Which  of  God's 
commands  had  she  kept  ?  Not  one  of  them.  Had  she  ever  done 
one  single  act  of  her  life  for  the  love  of  God  ?  No.  She  had 
simply  never  thought  of  Him.  Had  she  feared  him  ?  No.  She 
was  simply  indifferent. 

Once,  indeed,  a  little  thought  of  fear,  of  holy  fear,  had  come* 

She  had  gone  to  that  most  marvellous  of  all  Nature's  marvels, 
the  Falls  of  Niagara.  As  she  gazed  awe -stricken  upon  the  rush- 
ing mass  of  waters,  a  thought  of  God  had  come  into  her  heart. 
The  flashing  lights,  the  rainbow  clouds,  the  thunder  of  the 
waters,  brought  to  her  recollection  some  words  she  had  seen  long 
before,  it  seemed — some  words  of  the  great  glory  of  the  Eternal 
One,  who  sits  above  the  mighty  waters,  who  pours  them  forth 
from  the  hollows  of  His  hands — of  thunders  and  lightnings  sur- 
rounding the  throne  of  the  great  Creator — of  the  whisperings  of 
music  upon  the  harps  of  a  virgin  throng  who  follow  the  Lamb 
everywhere. 

The  voice  of  God  spoke  to  her  through  the  voice  of  Nature, 
and  in  the  mighty  falling  of  the  cataract  waters  she  heard  the 
whisper: 

God! 

She  knew  God  had  spoken.  For  a  moment  her  heart  was 
touched. 

It  was  but  for  a  moment.  God  had  given  His  grace  freely. 
She  had  done  nothing — nothing  whatever  to  merit  it.     He  had 


66  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO   NEW  YORK; 

given  His  grace  kindly,  oh,  how  kindly  !  She  had  never  given 
him  one  loving  thought. 

God,  if  we  may  say  so,  had  set  a  device  for  her,  a  plan  to  win 
her;  but  she  was  not  to  be  won. 

The  supreme  moment  passed — passed  forever ! 

Mr.  Maxwell  sent  for  the  servant.  He  would  have  gone  him- 
self for  a  priest  that  moment  if  his  wife  had  asked  him.  He 
loved  her  far  too  dearly,  far  too  unselfishly,  to  hesitate  for  a  mo- 
ment in  complying  with  any  desire  which  she  might  express. 

But  before  he  allowed  the  girl  to  enter  the  room,  he  spoke  to 
her  outside  the  door. 

"  Your  mistress  is  dying,"  he  said;  "  she  is  greatly  distressed 
m  her  mind.     If  you  can  do  anything  to  help  her  or  comfort— " 

"  Oh,  sir,  what  can  I  do  ?" 

61 1  thought — she  thinks — you  are  a  Catholic." 

It  seemed  as  if,  in  saying  that,  he  had  said  all  that  need  be 
said.  He  did  not  know  why  Kathleen  trembled.  He  did  not 
know  why  she  had  become  so  suddenly  and  so  ghastly  pale. 
He  attributed  her  hesitation  to  timidity,  and  said: 

"  This  is  no  time  to  think  of  yourself,  girl.  If  you  can  help 
my  dying  wife,  for  God's  sake  do;"  and  he  forced  her  into  the 
room. 

"Kathleen,  oh,  Kathleen,  help  me!" 

Already  the  eyes,  once  so  extolled  for  their  beauty,  were  glaz- 
ing in  death.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  terror  of  the  future  kept 
her  still  lingering  here.  The  little  vitality  left  was  sustained  by 
this  strange  stimulant.  She  could  not  die,  it  seemed,  in  this  ter- 
ror— in  this  darkness — in  this  awful  dread. 

Kathleen  flung  herself  on  her  knees  by  her  dying  mistress.  She 
scarcely  knew  her.  There  were  so  many  helps  in  that  great 
mansion,  that  one  more  or  less  mattered  little.  It  was  not  a  house 
where  souls  were  counted,  as  souls  should  be  in  all  Christian 
households. 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  what  can  I  do?" 

Again  she  wailed  out:  "I  thought  you  were  a  Catholic.  I 
Ckought  Catholics  could  do  something  for  the  dying. ' ' 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME   A   BANKER.  67 

As  the  moments  passed  and  no  answer  came,  the  shadow  of  an 
unutterable  despair  settled  down  upon  her. 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  I  was  a  Catholic — I  am — but  it  is  years  since  I 
practiced  my  religion." 

Years  since  she  practiced  her  religion,  and  time  is  counted  only 
by  years,  which  are  but  as  minutes  in  the  great  spaces  of  eter- 
nity ! 

"Let  me  go  for  the  priest,"  she  cried. 

"  Oh,  no — it  is  too  late  now — too  late  !  too  late  !" 

It  was  too  late. 

Before  priest  could  arrive,  the  hour  for  her  departure  would  be 
sounded  upon  the  dial  of  time.  Each  moment,  as  it  passed 
them,  was  worth  a  prince's  ransom.  A  prince's  ransom  !  It  is 
a  poor  comparison  to  make.  All  the  wealth  of  India,  all  the 
wealth  of  all  the  world  put  together,  could  not  delay  the  supreme 
moment. 

Faster  and  faster  the  minutes  seemed  to  fly,  and  Kathleen  suf- 
fered a  death-agony  with  her  dying  mistress.  She  realized  now 
to  the  full  what  she  had  done.  She,  with  full  light,  with  full 
knowledge  of  her  religion,  without  an  excuse  before  God  and 
man,  had  flung  away  her  glorious  birthright  as  a  Catholic,  as  a 
member  of  that  faith  which  even  infidels  have  admitted  to  be  the 
grandest  religion  the  world  has  ever  known. 

Unhappy,  miserable  girl  I  Already  her  sins  had  found  her  out. 
Happily  for  her,  she  had  time  for  repentance;  but  to  her  dying 
hour  she  would  go  bearing  about  the  bitter  burden  of  blood- 
guiltiness. 

She  was  guilty  of  spiritual  murder,  and  she  knew  it. 

If  she  had  been  faithful  to  the  teaching  of  the  holy  faith  in 
which  she  had  been  born,  baptized  and  educated,  what  might 
she  not  have  done  for  the  soul  of  that  dying  woman  ?  How  she 
might  have  comforted  her,  and  taught  her,  and  helped  to  win  her 
over  to  receive  the  ministration  of  God's  holy  Church  ! 

The  girl  knew  her  religion  very  well.  She  knew  if  there  was 
immediate  danger  of  death,  and  that  there  was  not  time  to  get  a 
priest,  that  she  should  have  herself  administered  conditional  bap- 


68  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  TORK| 

tism,  and  taught  her  dying  mistress  how  to  make  an  act  of  contri- 
tion for  all  her  sins. 

And  then  this  poor  soul  might  have  gone  hopefully  to  God. 

Protestant  baptism  is  so  carelessly  administered,  principally  be- 
cause it  is  considered  a  mere  ceremony  of  no  moment,  that,  awful 
as  it  is  to  say  so,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  greater  number  of 
Protestants  are  unbaptized,  and  we  know  that  those  who  die. 
without  holy  baptism  will  never  see  God's  blessed  face  in  heaven. 

This  poor  dying  woman,  then,  is  deprived — not  by  ignorant 
Protestants,  who  deserve  more  pity  than  blame,  but  by  a  Catho- 
lic— of  the  greatest  grace  which  mortal  can  desire. 

Kathleen  knew  full  well  what  she  ought  to  do ;  but  the  paraly- 
sis of  mortal  sin  was  on  her,  and  she  hesitated  till  the  time  for 
action  was  past. 

Then,  indeed,  when  death  had  claimed  its  prey,  she  cried  out,, 
with  an  exceedimg  loud  and  bitter  cry,  "Oh,  my  mistress,  my 
mistress  !" 

But  what  tears  or  cries  could  help  now  ?  The  time  of  probation, 
had  passed — the  hour  of  judgment  had  come.  Time  enough  had 
been  given  both  to  mistress  and  maid..  Time  enough  to  prepare 
for  eternity .  Time  enough,  intellect  enough,  opportunity  enough. 
What  excuse  could  either  mistress  or  maid  offer,  when  called  tc* 
account  before  the  judgment-seat  of  God  ? 

Kathleen  had  come  to  New  York  some  few  years  before,  as 
many  another  Irish  girl  had  come,  with  little  thought  of  anything 
except  to  advance  herself  in  the  world. 

The  sudden  change  from  the  regular  habits  of  home  life  had 
not  improved  her.  She  was  her  own  mistress  now,  and  gloried 
in  a  freedom  which  was  to  work  her  ruin. 

She  went  to  Mass  regularly  at  first,  and  every  Saturday  for  a  few 
weeks  she  intended  to  go  to  confession.  We  all  know  the  old 
proverb  about  the  way  to  hell.  It  is,  indeed,  paved  with  good 
intentions. 

No  girl  says  to  herself  deliberately,  "  I  will  go  to  hell."  But, 
alas  !  how  many  boys  and  girls  choose  deliberately  to  walk  in  the 
path  that  leads  to  it,  straight  and  direct. 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  69 

Here  is  the  fatal  error.  Here  is  the  terrible  danger.  And  yet 
how  awful  is  the  blindness  of  those  who  precipitate  themselves 
into  these  snares. 

A  man  who  is  walking  along  a  road  which  ends  in  a  dangerous 
pit-fall  is  told  often  and  often  where  he  is  going.  He  will  not 
say  deliberately  that  he  is  going  to  walk  into  destruction.  Far 
from  it.  He  will  assure  you  that  he  is  very  well  able  to  take 
care  of  himself;  but  those  who  went  the  road  before  know  well 
the  folly  of  his  rash  confidence.  If  he  continue  on  that  road,  he 
must  Grid,  by  precipitating  himself  into  the  yawning  chasm  from 
which  he  can  never  be  rescued. 

And  what  is  the  danger  of  temporal  death,  compared  with  the 
danger  of  eternal  damnation! 

Kathleen  had  been  the  envy  of  many  Irish  girls  in  New  York, 
in  consequence  of  her  success  in  obtaining  such  a  good  situation 
and  such  high  wages.  She  really  had  done  well  for  herself  in  a 
worldly  point  of  view,  and  this  was  to  her  credit,  if  she  had  not 
neglected  what  was  far  more  important. 

But  worldly  prosperity  is  always  dangerous.  It  needs  a 
double  watchfulness  on  the  part  of  those  who  attain  it.  They 
have,  indeed,  need  to  look  well  to  the  salvation  of  their  souls, 
lest,  having  gained  all  in  this  world,  they  should  lose  all  in  the 
next. 

At  first  Kathleen  had  the  best  possible  desires  and  intentions. 
She  would  have  been  indignant  and  furious  with  any  one  who 
had  even  suggested  that  she  would  become  a  partial  apostate 
from  her  faith.  What !  could  any  one  suppose  that  she  would 
turn  from  the  religion  of  old  Ireland — from  the  faith  for  which 
thousands  of  her  forefathers  had  bled  and  died  ! 

And  let  it  be  remembered  how  a  traitor  is  execrated  in  Ireland 
— that  a  man  who  outrages  his  country,  or  who  turns  traitor  on 
his  countrymen,  is  ever  shunned  and  hated  and  despised,  and 
justly  so.  But  what  should  we  say  of  those  who  become  traitors 
to  their  God  and  their  faith,  not  from  any  dire  temptation  or  dis- 
tress, but  only  because  they  fear  a  few  words  of  ridicule  from 
some  fellow  creature,  or  in  the  foolish  hope  of  temporal  advance- 
ment ? 


JTO  FROM  &ILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK* 

Kathleen  had  lost  grace  by  neglecting  to  attend  to  her  religions 
duties  after  her  arrival  in  New  York,  and  she  was  therefore  an 
easy  prey  to  the  tempter.  Her  fellow-servants,  who  knew  noth- 
ing about  religion,  ridiculed,  as  the  ignorant  will  always  do;  and 
she  who  was  once  wise  became  a  fool — not  for  God's  sake,  but  to 
please  the  devil. 

What  was  she  to  get  in  exchange  ?  She  was  giving  away 
eternal  gain  to  win  temporal  loss;  for  in  truth,  no  one  ever 
respects  a  man  or  woman  who  is  not  true  to  their  religion. 

She  was  risking  her  eternal  salvation  for  what  ?  Because  a 
few  words  of  ridicule  had  met  her  ears  now  and  then. 

Poor  fool !  poor  fool !  What  king  would  fling  away  his  crown 
and  descend  from  his  royal  throne,  because  an  envious  few  make 
a  mock  of  his  royalty  ? 

And  yet  do  we  not  too  often  find  that  those  who  should  be 
faithful  to  their  God,  that  those  who  may  wear  a  royal  crown* 
and  who  have  a  royal  throne  prepared  for  them  in  heaven,  will 
fling  it  all  aside  because  they  fear  some  little  word  which  will  be 
forgotten  almost  as  soon  as  it  is  uttered — because  they  are  fools, 
enough  to  listen  to  the  sneers  or  persuasions  of  some  bad  com- 
panions, who  will  laugh  at  them  in  the  end  for  their  folly  in  being 
so  easily  led ! 

Ridicule  may,  for  a  time,  be  the  portion  of  those  who  are  stead- 
fast to  their  religious,  principles;  but  m  the  end  faithfulness  is  al- 
ways respected,  and  will  surely  have  honor  in  this  world  as  well 
as  in  the.  next. 

Blood-guiltiness  I 

Kathleen  shuddered  as  she  thought  of  it.  She  had  been  guilty 
of  spiritual  murder,  so  far  as  it  was  in  her  power. 

If  a  mother,  looking  at  her  little  babe  in  its  cradle„  could  see 
the  hangman's  halter  round  its  neck — could  know  that  this  child 
would  one  day  imbrue  its  hand  in  the  blood  of  a  fellow -creature, 
what  would  be  her  anguish,  what  would  be  her  horror  !  Day  and 
night  she  would  be  haunted  by  the  terrible  thought — day  and 
night  Uie  horrible  future  would  be  before  her. 

Do  not  let  us.  forget  that  it  is  far  more  awful  to  kill  the  soul 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER. 


71 


than  to  kill  the  body.  Let  us  sometimes  think  how  fearful  will 
be  the  agony,  the  anguish  of  those  who  are  guilty  of  spiritual 
murder. 

Let  Irish  Catholics,  especially,  think  of  the  work  God  has 
given  them — the  glorious  mission  of  converting  the  world.  From 
north  to  south,  from  east  to  west,  the  Irish  Catholic  has  gone  forth 
on  his  glorious  mission.  It  is  the  Irish  Catholic  who  builds  the 
churches,  who  supports  the  schools ;  yes,  who  give  priests  for  the 
mission  in  every  English-speaking  country  in  the  world. 

Woe  to  those  who  fail  in  the  great  work  or  hinder  it !  Woe  to 
the  Irish  man  or  woman  who  neglects  his  religious  duties,  who  is 
ashamed  of  his  religion,  who  has  upon  him  the  sin  of  blood-guilti- 
ness, since  he  does  his  best,  according  to  the  world's  example,  to 
help  those  around  him  to  lose  their  souls,  while,  if  he  remained 
faithful  to  God,  he  might  save  not  only  his  own  soul,  but  the 
souls  of  those  with  whom  he  associates. 


^aT£  ue^ 


OF  <Tp 

RARE  OLD  IRISH  BOOKS 

COLLECTED  BY 

JOHN  GRAHAM,  Proprietor 
HE  HUSH  VIJJDICATOB 

*/p  and 


J72  FROM  KILLARNEY   TO  NEW*  YORK; 


CHAPTER  III. 

TRADE. 

"A  sunny,  laughing  Irish  boy, 
His  father's  pride,  his  mother's  joy.'" 

11  Thade  is  growing  up  a  fine  lad,  father." 

It  was  Kate  O' Grady  who  spoke,  and  what  she  said  could  not 
be  contradicted. 

Since  the  night  on  which  Mick  had  put  the  poor  child  inside 
Mr.  O'Grady's  door,  with  a  piece  of  paper  pinned  to  his  frock, 
and  inscribed  in  Mick's  "printed  characters,"  the  nearest  ap- 
proach he  could  make  to  penmanship,  Thade  had  been  a  gen- 
eral favorite. 

The  inscription  ran  thus: 

Cl  Here's  Thade,  your  honor,  sir;  an'  if  that  desavin'  black- 
guard comes  afther  him,  tell  her  to  go  to  her  master,  the .'" 

Mrs.  Blanders,  as  we  have  seen  already,  had  her  own  plans, 
and  was  not  disposed  in  the  very  least  to  interfere  with  Thade 
and  his  friends.  She  had  quite  sufficient  sense  to  know  when  a 
case  was  hopeless,  and  sufficient  mother-wit  to  keep  herself  out  of 
trouble  that  would  not  pay. 

So  Mrs.  Blanders  and  her  husband  had  absconded.  In  fact, 
for  many  reasons,  they  had  discovered  that  a  foreign  mission 
would  be  more  agreeable  to  their  taste;  and  even  wi:h  ail  the 
liberality  of  the  "  Society  for  the  Conversion  of  the  Irish  from  the 
Errors  of  Popery  to  those  of  the  Protestant  Religion,"  it  would  be 
far  more  remunerative. 

To  Mr.  Blanders'  great  amazement  and  his  still  greater  joy, 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  73 

Mrs.  Blanders  had  simply  relieved  her  feelings  on  their  first  meet- 
ing by  the  emphatic  utterance  of  the  words: 

"You're  a  fool  !" 

Mr.  Blanders  had  been  told  this  so  often,  that  he  had  at  last 
come  to  accept  the  assertion  as  incontrovertible,  or  as  an  estab- 
lished fact  which  it  was  useless  to  dispute. 

She  then  informed  him  that  she  had  arranged  with  the  Society 
for  the  Conversion  of  the  Cannibals. 

Mr.  Blanders  demurred.  He  had  a  habit  of  taking  things  au 
pied  de  la  lettre,  and  really  believed  that  for  once  his  wife  had  lost 
her  wits. 

On  venturing  a  slight  remonstrance,  accompanied  by  a  timid 
suggestion  that  he  would,  on  the  whole,  prefer  dying  a  natural 
death,  he  was  silenced  very  peremptorily. 

"  Did  I  say  you  were  going  to  live  with  the  cannibals  or  near 
them  ?  Thank  God,  if  you  were  bom  a  fool,  I  was  not.  Of 
course  we  must  send  home  lists  of  converts;  but  I  think  we've 
done  that  before  now,"  she  added,  not  without  a  touch  of  scorn; 
but  whether  for  the  credulity  of  her  employers,  or  for  her  own 
humiliation  in  being  obliged  to  earn  her  living  by  such  menda- 
cious proceedings,  we  are  unable  to  tell.  "  But,"  she  continued, 
''•  remember  that  there  can  be  no  inquiries  made  as  to  what  takes 
place  thousands  of  miles  from  here,  and  that  converts  can  be  got 
there  a  good  deal  cheaper  and  with  far  less  trouble  than  in  Ire- 
land; while  there  is  a  fine  opening  for  commerce;  and,  I  am  told, 
on  good  authority,  a  fortune  can  be  realized  in  a  very  short  time 
and  with  very  little  trouble.  That  done,  I  suppose  we  can  come 
home  and  attend  to  our  own  business." 

Thade  had  been  sent  regularly  to  school,  and  had  got  a  fair 
education.  In  those  days  common  sense  ruled  in  this  matter, 
and  an  unfortunate  school-boy  of  twelve  or  fourteen  was  not 
obliged  to  learn  as  many  A  \  ologies  "  as  a  professor.  Good  reading, 
good  penmanship  and  good  arithmetic  were  considered  the  essen- 
tials, and  were  taught  and  respected  accordingly. 

Nor  was  Thade  ungrateful.  He  poured  forth  all  the  warm- 
hearted devotion  of  his  race  on  "the  master  "    and  the  young 


74  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

ladies  of  the  family;  but  Mr.  Tom,  fhe  eldest  son  of  Mr. 
O' Grady,  was  the  special  object  of  his  attention  and  devotion. 
For  him  he  would  have  laid  down  his  life  freely  at  a  moment's 
.notice,  and  Mr.  Tern's  career  and  success  in  life  was  of  far  more 
.moment  and  consideration  in  his  eyes  than  his  own. 

It  was  with  no  little  pride  that  he  entered  the  breakfast-room 
■  on  a  bright  day  in  the  early  part  of  July,  1 8 — ,  and  handed  Mr. 
Tom  a  letter,  with  the  observation : 

"Official,  sir.'1 

It  was  official,  and  contained  an  appointment  which  Mr.  Tom 
had  most  ardently  coveted.  Warm  congratulations  were  poured 
<or»t  on  him  by  father  and  sisters,  for  he  was  idolized  by  his  family, 
.as  only  sons  are  apt  to  be,  especially  when  they  have  been 
the  last  pledge  of  a  mother's  affection.  Mrs.  O'Grady  had  long 
.lain  with  her  fathers  in  the  beautiful  old  abbey  church-yard,  once 
the  home  of  the  Franciscan  fathers,  at  Muckross,  near  the  Lakes 
of  Killarney. 

Thade  lingered,  as  a  privileged  domestic,  to  enjoy  the  scene, 
:and  to  offer  his  own  share  m  the  congratulations. 

"Yes,  it's  all  right,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  O'Grady;  "  only  that 
Father  Mathew  put  the  spell  on  me  against  a  drop  of  whisky, 
I  would  tell  you  to  drink  the  young  master's  health." 

Thade,  happily  for  himself,  had  never  tasted  anything 
stronger  than  water,  and  had  not  the  slightest  desire  to  do  so. 
Would  to  God  that  the  Irish  peasant  would  save  his  children 
from  all  fear  of  future  misery,  by  taking  the  simple  precaution  of 
not  allowing  them  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  a  taste  ior  the 
poison,  which  does  the  work  of  the  devil  better  than  he  could  do 
:it  himself. 

"You'll  not  want  the  horse  now,  sir  ?" 

"  True  for  you,  Thade,  and  you  will  have  your  heart's  desire." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  to  be  the  possessor  of  a  horse  was  the 
highest  flight  of  Thade's  ambition.  He  had  done  well  at  school, 
and  Mr.  O'Grady  was  now  thinking  of  binding  him  to  a  trade, 
or  even  of  placing  him  in  an  office. 

Let  us  have  a  glance  at  him  as  he  stands  in  the  bright  morning 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME   A   BANKER.  75 

sunlight,  in.  the  pleasant  homely  parlor.  Tall  for  his  age,  lithe, 
well-faonioned,  with  more  muscle  than  most  boys  of  his  years — 
a  very  pleasant  picture  to  look  on.  Constant  exposure  to  weather 
had  slightly  tanned  a  complexion  which  otherwise  would  have 
been  rather  fair  for  his  sex.  A  certain  look  of  gravity — which, 
however,  was  only  a  look — gave  somewhat  of  an  intellectual  turn 
to  his  whole  appearance  and  manner;  and  he  was  a  boy  of  more 
than  ordinary  ability.  He  looked,  in  fact,  more  like  a  gentle- 
man's son  than  a  peasant  lad,  and  his  constant  association  with 
the  family  of  his  patron  had  tended  not  a  little  to  promote  and 
keep  up  a  natural  refinement. 

But  the  boy's  chief  attraction  was  in  the  honest  glance  of  his 
light  clear  blue  eye.  Truth  and  fun  sparkled  from  those  truly 
Celtic  orbs;  and  one  might  feel  certain  that,  whatever  mischief 
Thade  got  into,  he  would  give  a  truthful  account  of  his  exploits, 
no  matter  what  blame  might  be  the  consequence  of  an  honest 
avowal  of  his  faults. 

His  chief  fault  was  a  somewhat  reckless  disposition:  not  the 
recklessness  of  an  ungoverned  temper — certainly  not  the  reckless- 
ness of  vice.  It  was  rather  the  result  of  a  natural  impetuosity  of 
character  common  to  our  race,  which  too  often  leads  the  violent  or 
reckless  to  do  deeds  of  daring  defiance,  under  ths  mistaken  im- 
pression that  they  are  doing  deeds  of  true  bravery. 

Such  a  disposition  has  all  the  materials  of  an  intellectual 
character,  and.  needs  only  a  guiding  hand  and  a  wise  director  to 
develop  into  a  character  of  more  than  ordinary  merit. 

After  "  Mr.  Tom,';  Miss  Kate  was  the  shrine  at  which  Thade 
offered  his  homage.  Miss  Kate  had,  indeed,  taken  no  ordinary 
care  of  the  orphan  boy.  She  had  taught  him  more  than  Iiq 
could  ever  have  learned  in  any  school.  It  was  she  who  had  pre* 
pared  him  for  his  first  confession  and  for  his  first  communion, 
and  wisely  and  well  had  she  fulfilled  her  charge.  There  was  no\ 
a  boy,  gentle  or  simple,  in  all  the  country  around,  who  answered 
the  bishop  better  when  the  dread  ordeal  of  examination  in  cate. 
chism  had  to  be  passed. 

Certainly  Thade  knew   his  duty  well— his  duty  to  God  and 


j6  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

his  duty  to  his  neighbor.  If  he  failed  hereafter,  it  was  not  for 
want  of  knowledge. 

His  was  a  happy  preparation  for  the  great  battle  of  life— a 
battle  the  result  of  which  is  so  momentous,  that  they  are  indeed 
accountable  and  guilty  who  fail  to  prepare  their  children  for  it. 

Here,  in  one  little  moment,  the  most  awful  decision  may  be 
made.  Here,  in  a  passing  second  of  time,  we  may  win  or  lose  a 
battle  that  will  make  our  future  eternal  gain  or  loss.  And  sure- 
ly, if  it  is  disgraceful  to  find  ourselves  on  the  losing  side  in  an 
earthly  conflict,  through  our  own  cowardice  or  ignorance,  it  is  an 
infinitely  worse  disgrace  to  be  conquered  when  we  are  fighting 
for  our  eternal  interests. 

Kate  O' Grady  was  as  light  and  joyous  a  girl  as  ever  trod  the 
shores  of  Killarney's  beautiful  lakes.  But  she  was  none  the  less 
grave  when  gravity  was  a  duty — none  the  less  wise  when  wisdom 
was  needed  in  her  household  cares. 

And  so  happy  Thade  had  the  very  best  guidance  that  an 
orphan  boy  could  have.  He  had  imparted  to  him  knowledge 
of  the  truest  kind ;  for  if  we  do  not  know  our  duty,  how  can  we  ful- 
fill it  ?  The  soldier  who  goes  into  battle  without  any  knowledge 
of  the  tactics  of  war,  would  meet  with  certain  defeat.  The 
Christian  who  goes  into  the  battle  of  life  without  knowing  what 
he  must  do  in  order  to  be  on  the  winning  side,  is,  indeed,  in  a 
critical  position.  And,  besides  knowledge,  he  must  have  exer- 
cised his  art,  he  must  have  used  his  arms,  he  must  have  tried  his 
metal. 

And  so,  from  his  early  years,  Thade  was  taught  both  to  know, 
and  to  put  in  practice  what  he  knew.  Hence,  when  the  hour  of 
temptation  came,  terrible  as  it  was,  he  was  well  prepared. 


OR,  HOW  THADE  BECAME  A   BANKER.  77 


CHAPTER  TV. 

NOT   ALL  SMOOTH    WATER. 

He  is  brave  who  dares  to  do 

The  right,  however  fools  may  taunt. 

46  You're  a  coward  l" 

"I'm  not." 

"  But  I  say  yo'.i  are,  and  I  dare  you  to  do  it." 

Now  there  is  nothing  a  fine,  high-spirited  boy  hates  so  much 
as  to  be  called  a  coward,  and  Thade  was  no  exception  to  the 
general  rule.  Unquestionably,  boys  have  not  always  right  ideas 
on  the  subject  of  courage,  and  with  all  Tirade's  careful  training, 
there  was  a  weak  point  there.  Many  a  boy  has  simply  become  a 
coward  because  he  did  not  choose  to  bear  the  reputation  of  being 
one — a  reputation  not  given  him  by  the  good  and  wise,  but  by 
those  who  were  cowards  of  the  basest  kind  themselves. 

"  You  know  I  am  not  a  coward.  Who  saved  you  when  you 
upset  the  boat  on  the  lakes  last  summer  ?" 

It  was  a  fact,  indeed.  Thade  had  gone  on  a  boating  expedi- 
tion with  some  other  lads  during  the  preceding  summer.  They 
had  upset  the  boat,  as  boys  will  do  in  their  wild  fun,  with  little 
thought  as  to  the  probable  consequences  of  their  rash  act. 

Death  seemed  certain.  Only  one  could  swim — (what  fatality 
is  it  which  prevents  boys  from  learning  so  useful  and  desirable  an 
accomplishment?) — and  that  one  boy  was  Thade.  The  instinct 
of  self-preservation  is  strong,  and  it  might  certainly  have  been 
supposed  that  Thade  would  have  saved  himself,  and  left  the  lads, 
whom  he  had  often  warned,  to  their  fate. 


78  FROM   KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

But  Thade  was  brave,  truly  brave,  and  he  had  that  self-sacri- 
ficing generosity  which  invariably  accompanies  such  a  disposi- 
tion. The  idea  of  saving  himself  never  seemed  to  have  occurred 
to  him;  and  yet  he  was  as  young  and  life  was  quite  as  dear  to 
him  as  to  any  of  his  companions. 

The  capsizing  of  the  boat  had  flung^allthe  boys  into  the  water. 
Thade  seized  the  nearest  boy,  who  was  evidently  unable  to  keep 
himself  afloat,  called  out  to  the  other  two  to  cling  to  the  capsized 
boat,  and  had  landed  his  prize,  as  we  may  well  call  it,  and  re- 
turned for  another,  before  help  was  sent  in  Answer  to  the  shouts 
of  the  terrified  boys. 

Clearly  Thade  was  not  a  coward;  but  he  was  afraid  of  doing 
wrong — afraid  as  only  a  good  and  brave  boy  may  be.  The 
coward  trembles  before  the  petty  tyranny  of  a  companion,  or 
the  idle  taunts  of  a  fool.  The  brave  boy  fears  God,  because  God 
is  his  Maker,  his  Master,  and  his  Lord.  He  fears  because  he 
loves,  for  divine  fear  is  but  another  form  of  perfect  charity. 

So  the  boys  did  ill  to  taunt  Thade  with  being  a  coward,  and 
they  were  half  ashamed  of  themselves  when  the  taunt  was  uttered. 
But  boys  often  act  with  little  thought,  and  do  harm  to  themselves 
and  others  the  extent  of  which  they  are  very  far  from  realizing. 
Moreover,  boys  do  not  like  to  be  baffled  in  their  plans,  good  or 
bad,  and,  human  nature  being  what  it  is,  the  boys  were  determined 
that  Thade  should  do  as  they  desired.  They  were  not  going  to 
be  disappointed,  nor  did  they  like  to  own  that  Thade  was  right 
and  they  were  wrong,  though  they  knew  it  perfectly  well.  Alas ! 
how  much  pride  has  had  to  do  with  human  sin  since  the  devil 
dared  Eve  to  disobey  her  Maker. 

"  You  know  I  am  not  a  coward,  boys,  but  1  don't  like  to — 
to—" 

Thade  hesitated.  We  did  not  say  he  was  quite  perfect — who 
is  ?  He  did  not  like  to  do  wrong,  but  lie  had  not  quite  moral 
courage  enough  to  say  so.  You  see,  after  all,  moral  courage  is  a 
much  higher  gift  than  physical  courage,  and  it  is  far  less  com 
>mon. 

You  will  see  a  man  do  deeds  of  the  utmost  daring  which  only 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME   A   BANKER.  79 

require  great  physical  courage.  You  will  see  men  peril  their 
lives  again  and  again  to  save  a  comrade  or  gain  a  point  of  van- 
tage on  the  battle-field.  Yet  these  same  men  will  stay  away 
from  Mass,  will  neglect  their  religious  duties,  even  if  a  little  word 
of  ridicule  is  said  of  them — sometimes  when  no  such  word  is 
said,  and  when  they  only  fear  it. 

Are  they  brave  men  ?  I  think  not;  they  are  the  veriest  cowards. 

They  will  get  great  applause — and  they  know  it — for  their 
deeds  of  physical  daring;  flaey  will  meet  with  gibes  and  con- 
tempt— for  awhile,  at  least — if  they  have  the  moral  courage  to 
practice  their  religion. 

It  is  a  bad  choice.  The  applause  of  men  passes  away  with  the 
breath  that  utters  it:  the  applause  of  God  and  the  holy  angels 
will  be  proclaimed  before  the  whole  world  at  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment, and  will  last  forever. 

"  Oh,  he's  afraid  of  Miss  Kate." 

They  wanted  to  touch  Thade  in  a  sore  point.  No  boy  likes 
to  own  that  he  is  under  any  sort  of  control  to  a  woman.  They 
forget  how  Jesus  obeyed  Mary  in  the  holy  house  of  Nazareth. 
They  forget  that  .he  men  who  have  distinguished  themselves 
most  in  after  life  were  generally  those  who,  when  boys,  were  the 
most  obedient  to  their  mothers. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  Miss  Kate  or  of  Miss  any  one  else,"  replied 
Thade,  with  a  toss  of  his  head  which  showed  that  the  shafts  of 
ridicule  were  telling. 

"  Oh,  you're  not  afraid,  ov  coorse,"  said  James  Murphy,  "  we 
all  know  that;  but  I  don't  see  why  you  can't  have  a  bit  of  divar- 
sion,  as  well  as  another  boy." 

"  Don't  you  sej  he's  the  makin's  of  a  gentleman  in  him  ?"  said 
impudent  Joe  Flanagan.  "He  won't  demean  himself  to  run 
races  with  the  like  of  us." 

All  of  which  was  exceedingly  galling  to  Thade's  high  spirit, 
as  it  was  intended  to  be. 

"Oh,  come,  Thade,"  said  the  very  boy  he  had  saved  from 
drowning;  "  don't  let  the  chaps  have  that  to  throw  in  your  face. 
Who'll  be  the  wiser  ?  I  suppose  you  know  how  to  ride  a  race 
as  well  as  to  swim  a  mile." 


80  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO   NEW  YORK; 

It  was  a  well-told  shot,  and  very  worthy  of  its  suggester,  the 
devil. 

It  seemed  to  poor  Thade  that  all  his  honor  and  glory  and  fame 
as  a  runner  and  a  swimmer  was  melting  away,  and  would  soon 
disappear  from  human  gaze,  if  he  did  not  in  some  way  distinguish 
himself  as  an  equestrian.  Poor  Thade  !  he  was  not  the  first  who 
lost  his  well-earned  fame  by  attempting  what  was  beyond  his 
power. 

Now,  Brian  Bom,  Mr.  Tom's  horse,  was  an  object  of  Thade's 
special  affection.  He  had  the  sole  charge  of  the  splendid  and 
spirited  animal — much  too  spirited,  Mr.  O'Grady  thought,  even 
for  his  son;  for  what  call  had  he  with  a  racer?  But  Mr.  Tom 
thought  otherwise.  What  young  man  of  two- and- twenty  ^ever 
admitted  that  his  horse  was  too  spirited  ?  If  any  boy  ever  did 
make  such  an  admission,  he  certainly  was  not  an  Irishman. 

Certainly  Thade  would  far  rather  have  suffered  any  injury 
himself,  no  matter  how  serious,  than  to  have  allowed  any  harm 
to  happen  to  the  horse,  and  the  condition  of  his  equine  charge 
proved  that  his  devotion  was  practical. 

Both  Mr.  O'Grady  and  Tom  had  charged  Thade  strictly  never 
to  ride  Brian  Boru  beyond  a  wTalk.  They  had  their  reasons,  and 
wise  ones.  Thade  was  a  high-spirited  boy,  mrpulsive-^nd  mis- 
chievous, though  not  in  the  worst  sense  of  the  word.  They  quite 
anticipated  that  he  would  be  tempted  by  other  lads  to  run  races 
when  he  took  the  horse  to  water  morning  and  evening  at  the 
lakes,  and  they  both  assumed  that  a  strict  prohibition  would  be 
his  best  safeguard. 

Of  course  Thade  promised,  and  most  certainly  he  intended  to 
keep  his  promise.     But  Thade  was  mortal. 

"  Come  on,  boys,"  he  said,  when  he  could  stand  the  bantering 
no  longer,  or  thought  he  could  not.  He  did  not  know  how 
greatly  he  would  have  enhanced  his  reputation  for  courage  if  he 
had  withstood — how  he  would  have  secured  for  himself  a  charac- 
ter for  firmness  which  would  have  saved  him  from  future  as- 
saults, if  he  had  only  acted  according  to  the  dictates  of  his  con- 
science. 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME   A   BANKER.  8l 

"  I  thought  you  would  not  like  to  be  a  *  Molly,'  "  shouted  Joe. 

Even  then  Thade  hesitated.  Was  it  for  this  absurd  taunt  he 
was  going  to  disobey  the  best  master  boy  ever  had  ? 

The -race  was  run,  when  Thade  found  himself  flying  along  the 
road  at  a  more  rapid  pace  than  he  had  ever  thought  possible,  his 
brain  wildly  excited,  as  a  spirited  boy's  always  will  be  when  he 
rides  a  noble  horse. 

He  dashed  wildly  on,  leaving  his  companions  far  behind.  He 
won  the  race,  certainly,  but  at  what  a  price  !  The  noble  animal, 
finding  his  rider  had  no  control  over  him,  swerved  hither  and 
thither  in  his  mad  career.  At  last  he  dashed  against  a  huge 
boulder  at  the  side  of  the  road,  flung  Thade  off  on  his  head,  and 
the  poor  brute  lay  himself  on  the  roadside  an  apparent  helpless 
mass  of  suffering. 

When  Thade  came  to  himself  he  found  he  was  not  much  hurt, 
he  was  only  stunned ;  but  the  noble  animal  which  had  met  with 
such  a  careless,  reckless  rider,  was  hopelessly,  and,  for  all  he 
knew,  fatally  injured. 


82  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YOR3££ 


CHAPTER  Vo 

THE    TEMPTER    AGAIN. 

Mother  of  Jesus,  Lady  dear, 

Help  the  sinful  and  suffering  here; 
Listen  to  the  sinner's  cry — 

Aid  those  who  live  and  those  who  die. 

"Here  comes  Thade  and  Brian  Boru,"  exclaimed  Tom. 

"  Rather  late,"  observed  Mr.  O' Grady,  without  looking  up 
from  the  paper,  which  he  usually  perused  at  his  breakfast. 

Bat  Kate  O'Grady's  quick  eye  had  seen  that  though  Thade 
and  Brian  Boru  were  unquestionably  passing  the  house,  it  was 
not  in  the  usual  fashion. 

Thade,  who  had  a  fine  taste  for  music,  might  generally  be 
heard  whistling  some  lively  and  popular  air  in  the  intervals  of 
addressing  affectionate  observations  to  the  horse.  He  would 
pass  the  windows  on  his  way  to  the  stables  with  as  quick  a  trot 
and  as  jaunty  an  air  as  was  consistent  with  orders  in  regard  to  his 
charge  and  his  own  ideas  of  respect  to  his  master. 

But  this  morning  Thade  certainly  was  not  riding;  he  was  not 
whistling;  he  was  not  even  giving  the  passing  glance  that  he 
always  gave. 

Clearly  something  was  seriously  wrong ;  but  whether  with  Thade 
or  Brian  Boru,  Kate  O'Grady  could  not  tell.  She  knew  her  father's 
quick  temper — the  temper  that  was  so  difficult  to  rouse,  and  so 
awful  when  it  was  aroused— and  she  trembled  for  her  favorite, 
feeling  quite  sure  that  harm  had  come  to  him  or  his  charge, 
knowing  well  that  her  father,  in  his  anger,  might  not  stop  to 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME   A  BANKER.  83 

discriminate  between  an  accident  and  a  negligence  or  a  serious 
fault. 

She  looked  at  Tom,  who  appeared  not  to  have  any  misgivings. 
If  there  was  wrong,  clearly,  the  sooner  it  was  remedied,  the  bet- 
ter; and  the  more  quickly  her  father  was  made  aware  of  it,  the 
better. 

"  Shall  you  ever  have  finished  breakfast?"  she  said,  rising  from 
table,  with  an  appearance  of  gaiety  she  was  far  from  feeling. 

"  Oh,  I'm  done,"  and  Tom  rose  also.  "  I  will  go  and  have 
a  look  at  Brian  Boru." 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Kate,  who  was  lingering  at  the 
^oor,  and  had  noticed  that  her  father  was  too  much  absorbed  in 
the  paper  he  was  reading  to  be  likely  to  follow  them. 

"  Tom,  I'm  afraid  something  has  happened  to  the  horse  or  to 
Thade.  I  noticed  them  as  they  passed  the  window,  and  was 
afraid  my  father  would  see  it." 

" Pooh,  nonsense,  Kate;  you're  always  fearing  things,"  ob- 
served Tom,  with  a  young  brother's  usual  self-assurance  and 
self-confidence.  He  had  not  noticed  anything  wrong,  so  there 
could  not  be  anything  to  notice. 

' *  Well,  I  hope  you  are  right ;  but — ' ' 

They  had  just  reached  the  stable  door,  and  a  pitiable  sight  met 
their  eyes.  Brian  Boru  was  manifestly  hopelessly  lamed,  covered 
with  dust  and  dirt,  and  how  far  otherwise  injured  none  could  tell 
without  careful  examination.  Thade  lay  on  the  ground  in  an 
agony  of  grief  and  despair. 

Tom  went  to  the  horse  at  once,  too  completely  overcome  to 
utter  a  single  word. 

Kate  went  to  the  prostrate  boy,  who,  whatever  might  have 
happened,  seemed  to  her  woman's  heart  an  object  of  the  deepest 
pity. 

"Thade!" 

Thade  turned  his  head  a  little  when  he  heard  the  voice  of  his 
young  mistress.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  feared  to  look 
in  her  face,  but  he  dared  not  do  so  now. 

Tom  was  recovering  the  shock  which  had  stunned  him  at  first, 


84  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

and  he  seized  the  boy  by  the  collar,  shook  him  roughly,  and  set 
him  on  his  feet. 

"  Gently,  gently  !"  exclaimed  Kate,  afraid  lest  interference 
might  do  harm,  and  yet  dreading  the  rising  anger  in  Tom's  eyes. 
"  Gently,  indeed  !  1  don't  think  the  young  scoundrel  has 
been  very  gentle  with  my  horse."  Another  shake;  and  indeed 
Tom  was  justified  in  his  anger.  "  Here  is  the  finest  racer  in  Kil- 
larney,  that  my  father  gave  such  a  sum  of  money  for  not  a 
month  ago,  as  far  as  I  can  see  hopelessly  lamed,  and  you  talk 
of  being  gentle  !  Wait  till  my  father  comes, ' '  and  Tom  turned 
in  haste  to  look  for  him. 

"  Oh,  stay,  Tom,  stay — at  least  wait  till  we  hear  more — till  we 
know  how  it  happened." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Tom  was  forbearing  when  he  com- 
plied with  her  request. 

"  Thade,  how  has  this  happened  ?" 
No  answer. 

Cl  Thade,  what  have  you  done?" 
No  answer. 

"  Come,  Thade,  this  will  never  do.  I  have  taught  you  to  be 
a  truthful  boy,  and  you  know  your  Blessed  Mother  in  heaven 
will  not  love  you  if  you  are  not  honest  in  word  and  deed.  The 
truth  must  be  known  sooner  or  later;  be  a  man,  and  tell  it  now 
yourself." 

With  many  sobs  and  tears  and  groans  of  real  heart-felt  an- 
guish, Thade  told  his  story.  Told  how  he  had  been  tempted  by 
the  boys,  until,  believing  that  they  only  wanted  "  a  bit  of  fun," 
he  had  yielded  to  the  temptation,  and  blamed  himself  bitterly. 
There  was  no  excuse;  he  knew  it  well. 

He  had  been  fully  instructed,  had  advantages  which  these 
poor  lads  were  never  likely  to  possess.  He  had  friends  such  as 
they  could  never  hope  to  have.  He  had  an  education  which  at 
that  day  was  rare  indeed.  And  yet  for  a  few  mocking  words  he 
had  disobeyed  the  most  express  commands  of  his  employer — of 
his  good  master.  He  had  disobeyed  commands  given  again  and 
again,  and  there  could  be  no  possible  excuse  for  his  fault. 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  85 

But  we  are  all  too  apt,  both  in  blaming  ourselves  and  in  blam- 
ing others,  to  look  more  at  the  consequences  of  a  fault  than  at  the 
fault  itself. 

It  was  so  in  this  case.  If  Thade  had  not  injured  his  master's 
property  so  seriously  (Tom  declared  the  horse  would  never  be 
fit  to  run  again),  he  would  have  thought  very  little  of  the  act  of 
disobedience.  It  is  often  well  for  us  that  the  consequences  of  our 
faults  are  so  serious,  for  then  we  view  them  very  differently  to 
what  we  might  do  if  it  were  otherwise. 

Yet  parents  are  too  often  cruelly  unjust  to  their  children  in 
such  matters.  They  will  punish  with  severity,  almost  with 
cruelty,  some  fault  which  has  caused  them  serious  loss  and  incon- 
venience, though  it  may  not  have  been  culpable  in  itself;  while 
they  will  pass  over  some  serious  matter  which  has  been  a  grave 
offense  against  God,  because  it  has  not  touched  their  own  feelings 
or  interests. 

Mr.  O' Grady  was  so  absorbed  in  his  paper,  that  it  was  some 
time  before  he  rose  from  the  table;  but  when  he  did  he  recollect- 
ed Kate's  remark  about  the  horse,  and  though  he  attached  but 
little  importance  to  it,  he  thought  he  might  as  well  go  to  the 
stable  and  see  for  himself  if  anything  was  wrong. 

The  sight  that  met  his  gaze  when  he  arrived  there  held  him 
spell-bound  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment.  His  temper, 
as  we  know,  was  hasty.  The  condition  of  the  horse  spoke  for 
itself.  Tom's  attitude  of  utter  despair,  Thade's  tear-swollen  and 
guilty  face,  and  Kate's  attitude  of  fear  and  anxiety. 

"  You  young  scoundrel,  you  have  destroyed  the  horse '."ex- 
claimed Mr.  O' Grady. 

A  riding-whip  lay  at  hand.  It  was  but  a  moment  to  seize  it, 
and  to  inflict  a  shower  of  blows  on  Thade's  shoulders.  He  cer- 
tainly deserved  a  flogging,  but,  to  his  credit  be  it  said,  he  felt  the 
shame  of  his  conduct  far  more  than  any  corporal  punishment, 
however  severe.  But  the  sharp  pain  seemed  to  bring  him  to 
himself.  Before  this  he  had  been  stunned  and  stupid.  Now  he 
could  no  longer  bear  to  face  the  master  whom  he  had  so  griev- 
ously offended,  and  with  one  wild  cry  he  fled  out  of  the  stable 
and  into  the  street. 


86  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

Mr.  O'Grady's  anger  cooled  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  risen, 
but  he  did  not  follow  Thade.  The  boy  would  come  back,  he 
thought,  no  doubt,  in  the  evening — where  else  had  he  to  go  ?— 
and  the  horse  needed  immediate  attention. 

Thade,  after  running  wildly  for  some  time  he  knew  not 
whither,  came  to  a  sudden  pause.  Where  was  he  to  go?  What 
was  he  to  do  with  himself?  In  his  then  frame  of  mind,  he 
thought  he  could  never  face  his  master  again.  He  had  made 
but  few  acquaintances,  he  had  no  near  relations,  nor  did  he  wish 
any  one  to  see  him  in  his  present  plight. 

The  doors  of  the  cathedral  were  open,  as  the  doors  of  a  Cath- 
olic church  are  ever  open  to  receive  the  wanderer  and  the  weary, 
and  with  little  thought  of  prayer  or  God  at  the  moment,  Thade 
went  in  and  flung  himself  prostrate  on  the  ground,  in  a  dark  cor- 
ner, in  all  the  stupor  of  grief. 

The  day  passed  on,  but  he  took  no  note  of  time.  Evening 
came,  but  still  he  did  not  stir.  At  last  a  care-taker  noticed  him 
lying  on  the  ground,  and  told  him  he  could  not  remain  there  for, 
the  night. 

He  rose  up  slowly  to  leave  the  church,  and  then  a  circum- 
stance happened  which  changed  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 


OR,   HOW   T.IADE  BECAME  A   BANKER.  87 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ROSALINE. 

Airy,  fairy  Rosaline, 

Gentle,  loving  Rosaline, 

Beauty  gains  more  grace  from  you— 

Kind  and  grateful,  good  and  true. 

"Well,  really,  Mr.  Maxwell,  I  wonder  you  have  allowed  that 
child  to  be  brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic.  It  will  certainly  be 
an  injury  to  her  prospects  in  life,  though  the  heiress  of  the  firm 
of  Maxwell  &  Co.  may  well  defy  adventitious  circumstances." 

"  I  will  not  do  otherwise.  It  was  my  poor  wife's  last  request 
that  her  child  should  be  brought  up  with  some  definite  religious 
views.'  And  Mr.  Maxwell,  even  as  he  spoke,  seemed  to  recall 
the  terrible  death-bed  scene,  and  to  shudder  at  the  recollection. 

He  was  not  a  Catholic  himself.  His  wife's  death  had  made 
an  ineffaceable  impression  on  him;  but  it  was  a  human  impres- 
sion, nothing  more,  and,  as  such,  it  had  little  effect  on  his  life. 

"  I  suppose  that  Irish  nurse  of  hers  is  the  source  of  the  evil,  as 
the  Irish  seem  to  be  of  all  the  evils  in  the  country,  if  we  are  to 
believe  men  like — " 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  Irish,  and  care  nothing  for  them,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Maxwell;  "  but  I  would  certainly  like  to  see  Ireland, 
and  half  think  of  crossing  the  ocean  this  summer.  Will  you 
come?" 

But  before  this  momentous  question  is  answered,  we  must 
glance  at  the  history  of  the  little  Rosaline,  and  at  the  faithful 
Irish  nurse  to  whom  she  owed  so  much. 

Kathleen's  remorse,  after  the  death  of  her  mistress,  was  some-* 


SS  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

thing  terrible;  but  happily  it  was  not  the  remorse  of  despair. 
For  a  little  while,  indeed,  the  demon,  who  was  unwilling  to  let 
go  his  prey,  fought  a  battle  with  her  which  seemed  likely  to  end 
on  the  side  of  eternal  loss. 

She  was  too  thoroughly  aware  of  the  consequence  of  her  own 
neglect  of  her  religious  duties  to  deceive  herself  on  that  subject. 
She  had  witnessed  the  terrors  of  a  death-bed  unilluminated  by 
even  one  gleam  of  hope.  She  knew  perfectly  well  how  this 
death-bed  could  have  been  made  one  of  peace  and  consolation. 
It  is  true,  indeed,  that  those  who  neglect  God  in  their  days  of 
health  and  happiness,  cannot  expect  Him  to  work  miracles  for 
them  in  their  hour  of  death  and  despair.  So  far  the  unhappy 
young  mother  had  only  to  thank  herself  for  her  misery.  But 
Kathleen  knew  that  she  would  have  to  answer  at  the  judgment 
seat  of  God  for  the  sins  which  had  caused  her  to  fail  in  the  mo- 
ment when  she  might  have  given  such  blessed  help  to  a  dying 
fellow-creature. 

Her  first  thought  was  despair,  or,  rather,  this  was  her  first 
temptation.  It  is  a  subtle  temptation — a  temptation  too  often 
used  successfully ;  and  what  does  the  tempter  care  whether  he 
destroys  his  victims  by  one  snare  or  another  ? 

It  was  no  use,  she  thought,  to  repent  now,  after  all  the  evils 
she  had  done — as  if  the  good  and  merciful  God,  by  allowing  her 
to  live  so  long,  was  not  actually  calling  her  to  repentance.  She 
was  ashamed  to  go  to  the  priest  after  having  remained  away  so 
many  years  from  the  sacraments;  but  happily  she  thought  how 
much  more  ashamed  she  would  beat  the  Day  of  Judgment,  if  she 
did  not  now  make  her  peace  with  God,  and  obtain  pardon  in  the 
way  which  He  himself  has  appointed. 

But  grace  triumphed.  With  many  groans  and  many  tears, 
Kathleen  went  with  her  sad  story  to  the  priest,  and  she  found 
not  only  pardon,  but  peace  and  hope.  Often  in  after  life  would 
she  quote  her  own  example  to  some  poor  girl  who  had  remained 
perhaps  for  years  absent  from  the  sacraments.  She  would  tell 
her  how  she  had  feared  and  dreaded  to  confess  her  sin,  how 
cleverly  the  devil  had  tried  to  discourage  her  by  this  means,  when 


OR,    HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  89 

all  other  means  had  failed;  how  long  she  had  hesitated,  and 
how  she  had  trembled  at  the  very  thought  of  entering  the  con- 
fessional. 

But,  as  we  have  said,  grace  triumphed.  The  devil's  ways  are 
ways  of  cruelty  and  misery.  God's  ways  are  ways  of  peace  and 
joy.  The  devil  knew  very  well  what  peace  and  rest  she  would 
find  in  the  Sacrament  of  Penance,  and  so  he  did  his  evil  best  to 
keep  her  from  it. 

There  was  one  duty  for  her  now,  and  that  was  the  duty  of 
reparation.  It  is  a  duty  which  even  our  own  conscience  must 
tell  us  that  God  will  demand  from  us.  It  is  a  duty  which  even 
the  world  requires.  If  we  have  done  evil,  we  must  atone  for  the 
evil;  if  we  have  done  injury  to  others,  we  must,  by  all  means  in 
our  power,  repair  that  injury. 

Unhappily  this  duty  is  too  often  neglected,  too  seldom  consid- 
ered as  it  should  be;  and  if  the  reparation  is  not  made  here,  most 
certainly  it  will  have  to  be  made  hereafter. 

Kathleen's  first  thought  was  to  beg  admittance  into  some  con- 
vent as  a  lay  sister,  where  she  might,  by  prayer  and  penance, 
make  reparation  to  God  Almighty  for  her  sin.  But  she  owed  a 
reparation,  also,  to  those  with  whom  she  lived.  She  owed  a 
reparation  to  the  Protestant  servants  to  whom  she  had  given  so 
fearful  an  example,  for  however  they  might  laugh  at  her  religion, 
they  knew  well  how  she  ought  to  have  practiced  it. 

She  owed  reparation  to  her  master,  and,  above  all,  she  felt 
that  she  could  best  repair  the  sin  against  her  mistress  by  devoting 
herself,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  little  baby,  Rosaline,  and,  with  her 
master's  permission,  she  took  entire  charge  of  the  child. 

Mr.  Maxwell  did  not  concern  himself,  as  she  grew  older,  as  to 
what  religion  she  was  taught,  or,  indeed,  as  to  whether  she  was 
taught  any  religion.  If  she  looked  well  and  seemed  happy,  that 
was  all  he  asked. 

The  question  came  before  him  one  day,  when  he  found  that  it 
was  quite  time  that  she  should  have  some  regular  instruction. 
Naturally  he  spoke  to  Kathleen  on  the  subject,  and  at  her  earnest 
entreaties,  the  little  one  was  sent  to  a  convent  school. 


90  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

Such  an  instance  of  liberality  was  far  rarer  then  than  it  is  now, 
when  so  many  non-Catholic  Americans  are  glad  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  superior  education  given  in  our  Catholic  convents. 

The  convents  of  America  have,  indeed,  distinguished  them- 
selves in  that  matter  before  the  whole  world.  May  they  prosper, 
and  continue  their  divine  work. 

Kathleen  had  believed  it  to  be  her  duty  to  remain  in  Mr.  Max- 
well's family  until  her  little  charge  had  made  her  first  commu- 
nion, and  until  she  felt  assured  that  her  service  was  no  longer 
needed.  Then  she  obtained  her  heart's  desire,  and  she  is  even 
now  a  devoted  and  faithful  lay  sister  in  the  very  convent  where 
little  Rosaline  was  educated. 

But  we  have  left  the  gentlemen  too  long  conversing  unnoticed. 

The  question  of  a  voyage  to  Europe  was  soon  decided,  and 
every  preparation  made  with  that  expedition  which  wealth  can 
always  insure. 

Rosaline  remained  in  charge  of  the  nuns — a  bright,  joyous, 
amiable  child,  and  with  a  promise  of  being  as  beautiful  as  she 
was  good. 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  9! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TH  ADE'S      CHOICE. 

Forevermore  she  hears  us  cry, 
And  helps  in  every  misery. 

«  Oh,  Mother  of  God  !  Mother  of  God  !  Mother  of  God  !" 

It  was  the  cry  of  poor  Thade's  broken  heart,  when  his  grief 
found  utterance.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  Where  was  he  to  go  ? 
Certainly,  he  said  to  himself,  he  would  never  again  face  his  kind 
friends;  and  where  was  he  to  look  for  help  and  shelter? 

He  had  the  firm  trust  in  and  the  fervent  devotion  to  the  Mother 
of  Jesus  which  has  ever  been  the  characteristic  of  the  Irish  heart. 
Young  as  be  was,  he  said  his  rosary  every  night,  and  when  was 
any  one  ever  forsaken  who  trusted  to  the  powerful  intercession  of 
our  Blessed  Lady  ? 

It  was  a  mere  mechanical  cry,  when  he  moaned  out  his  prayer, 
"  Mother  of  God  !  Mother  of  God  !"  But  if  human  mothers  are 
so  full  of  love — if  their  hearts  are  so  easily  touched  when  they 
hear  the  least  cry  from  the  lips  of  their  children — how  much  more 
quickly  does  the  Divine  Mother  hear  us,  her  poor  children,  for 
whom  she  suffered  such  long  hours  of  agony  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross  of  Jesus. 

As  Thade  passed  out  of  the  church,  his  foot  stumbled  over  what 
seemed  a  small  parcel.*  He  stooped  down  carelessly  to  pick  it 
up,  but  his  mind  was  too  absorbed  in  his  grief  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion, for  the  moment,  to  anything. 

He  held  it  in  his  hand  for  a  second  or  two,  doubtful  whether 

*  A  fact,  and  what  follows  also  happened  exactly  as  it  is  told. 


92  FROM   KILLARNEY  TO   NEW  YORK; 

he  should  throw  it  again  on  the  ground,  or  leave  it  on  a  bench 
for  the  owner.  A  moment  more,  and  it  flashed  on  him  that  he 
had  a  pocket-book  in  his  hand. 

A  purse  ! 

A  moment  more,  and  he  had  ascertained  that  it  was  well  filled 
with  gold,  and  a  large  sum  of  money  in  bank-notes. 

Here,  indeed,  was  good  fortune. 

In  a  moment  the  boy  was  himself  again.  Surely,  he  thought, 
the  Blessed  Virgin  herself  had  put  this  in  his  way.  Now  he  could 
provide  for  himself.  He  would  go  to  Dublin,  he  would  go  to 
America,  he  would  make  his  fortune  somewhere  and  somehow. 
At  all  events,  he  was  safe  from  the  terror  and  dread  of  going  back 
to  his  master. 

His  good  fortune  almost  stunned  him  for  the  moment,  but 
thought  is  quick.  How  many  things  he  had  settled  in  his  own 
mind,  and  acted  over  in  his  imagination  in  a  few  minutes. 

But  the  one  great  thought  was  the  overwhelming  joy  that  he 
could  now  provide  for  himself. 

We  must  do  Thade  the  justice  to  say  that  it  was  not  fear  of 
punishment  which  made  him  so  desirous  to  escape.  He  was  too 
brave  and  manly  a  boy  to  wish  to  shirk  a  punishment  which  he  knew 
he  well  deserved,  as  we  have  said.  To  his  fine  and  noble  nature, 
the  shame  and  disgrace  of  having  acted  so  badly  toward  those  to 
whom  he  owed  so  much,  was  far  more  terrible  than  any  chastise- 
ment which  could  be  inflicted  on  him.  He  would,  he  thought, 
never  see  them  again,  until  he  could  show  them  how  truly  he 
had  repented — until  he  had  made  a  name  for  himself  in  some  way. 

Poor  boy  !  he  little  knew  how  difficult  it  would  be  to  get  name 
and  fame;  but  youth  is  happily  sanguine. 

They  should  be  proud  of  him  when  they  would  see  him  next. 
And  he  would  buy  the  most  magnificent  horse  for  Mr.  Tom.  I 
am  not  sure  that  he  had  not  decided  on  jewels  and  silks  for  Miss 
Kate. 

Poor  Thade  !  nay,  rather  let  us  say,  rich  Thade.  Rich  in  his 
own  generous,  unselfish  Irish  heart.  Better  be  Thade  giving 
imaginary  presents  to  those  he  loved,  which  he  most  certainly 


OR,    HOW   TIIADE    BECAME   A   BANKER.  93 

would  have  made  real  if  he  could,  than  your  miserly  boy,  who 
thinks  only  of  himself  and  his  own  selfish  interests. 

As  he  left  the  church  porch,  he  began  to  hum  a  Litany  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  softly  to  himself. 

He  turned  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  familiar  spot,  and  to  make 
a  last  reverence  to  the  large  and  beautiful  statue  of  our  Blessed 
Lady  outside  the  church. 

But  what  has  happened  ? 

What  change  is  this  ?  Thade  has  ceased  his  joyous  melody. 
He  turns  pale  as  death;  a  cold  sweat  bursts  out  on  his  fine,  open 
forehead;  he  trembles  in  every  limb. 

'  *  My  God  ! "  he  mutters,  in  accents  of  alarm  and  horror ;  < '  I 
was  near  being  a  thief." 

Never  that,  Thade,  boy,  whatever  harm  you  may  do. 

A  thief !     The  very  thought  was  terrible. 

As  he  turned  and  looked  at  the  Mother  of  Jesus;  she,  too, 
looked  at  him — one  long,  tender,  reproachful  glance. 

In  one  moment  he  realized  his  danger.  He  saw  the  peril  from 
which  he  had  been  saved. 

The  money  was  not  his  own,  and,  at  any  cost,  it  must  be  re~ 
turned  to  the  owner. 

Thade  flew  home.  The  fear  of  being  tempted  to  sin  if  he  kept 
the  money  a  moment  longer  in  his  possession  far  outweighed  the 
lesser  fear. 

He  never  even  thought  of  what  would  be  said  to  him,  nor  did 
he  even  for  a  moment  consider  that  he  was  performing  an  act 
of  virtue. 

As  he  came  near  the  house  his  courage  cooled  a  little,  but  his 
determination,  happily,  never  faltered  for  a  moment. 

Whom  was  he  to  speak  to  ?  How  could  he  dare  show  his  face 
to  any  of  the  family  ? 

Mr.  O'Grady's  garden  was  divided  from  that  of  his  neighbor 
by  a  close,  thick  hedge,  which,  however,  was  high  enough  to 
divide,  but  not  too  high  for  verbal  communication.  Thade  re- 
membered  this,  and  went  to  the  servant,  whom  he  knew  very 
well.  She  had  heard  his  trouble,  and  pitied  him  sincerely,  for 
Thade  was  a  general  favorite. 


94  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

He  told  her  his  story,  and  that  all  he  wanted  was  to  get  one 
word  with  Miss  Kate,  and  then  he  would  ran  off  again. 

This  was  easily  managed. 

Kate  came  to  the  hedge,  and  Thade  cried  out  eagerly,  "  01\ 
Miss  Kate,  Miss  Kate,  I've  found  some  money;  for  God's  sake 
take  it,"  and  he  pushed  the  pocket-book  into  her  hand,  and  pre- 
pared to  run  away. 

But  he  could  not  resist  the  old  associations  of  obedience 
and  affection,  and  when  Kate  called  him  back  eagerly,  he  re- 
turned. 

"  What  is  this,  Thade  ?  Come  to  me.  I  assure  you  my  father 
was  as  anxious  as  any  of  us  for  your  return." 

"Oh,  Miss  Kate,  sure  I  could  never  look  one  of  you  in  the 
face  again — you  that  reared  me  and  cared  for  me  all  my  life, 
and  for  me  to  go  and  kill  Mr.  Tom's  horse,  that  I'd  have  died 
for  any  day." 

It  certainly  was  not  quite  clear  whether  Thade  would  have 
died  for  Tom,  or  the  horse,  or  both ;  but  Kate  knew  that  his  in- 
tentions, however  wrongly  expressed,  were  genuine,  and  she 
believed  that  he  would  have  died  willingly  any  day  in  his  mas- 
ter's service. 

"  But  what  is  this  about  the  purse  ?  Where  did  you  get  it  ? 
Where  did  it  come  from  ? ' ' 

"  Well,  Miss  Kate,  sure  I  thought  the  Blessed  Virgin  sent  it  to 
me  to  help  me  out  of  all  my  troubles,  and  I  was  just  going  to 
run  away  with  it,  and  go  to  the  devil  entirely,  when  she  just  gave 
me  one  look,  and  sure  that  was  enough." 

"But,"  exclaimed  Kate  in  amazement,  "where  did  you  see 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  Thade?"  She  was,  indeed,  far  too  much 
astonished  to  question  his  assertions  very  carefully. 

"Is  it  where  I  saw  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God ?  Sure  it  was 
just  where  she  is,  outside  the  church,  there ;  and  she  looked  at 
me  so  sorrowful  like." 

"Well,  but  where  did  you  get  the  purse?"  replied  Kate,  who 
did  not  feel  disposed  to  contest  Thade 's  statement. 

"You  see,  Miss  Kate,  I  ran  to  the  church  and  hid   myseli 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  95 

there,  for  I  was  just  dead  with  shame  for  what  I  had  done,  and  I 
think  I  was  praying  all  the  time  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  unknowns t 
to  me,  and  when  it  got  quite  dark  I  had  to  come  away,  and  fell 
over  that  purse;  and  I  said  to  myself,  '  Glory  be  to  God,  Thade, 
you  can  go  to  America,  or  London,  or  anywhere  now,  and  make 
your  fortune,  and  not  come  home  till  you'll  be  a  credit  to  them 
all.'  And  I  was  just  off,  when  I  looked  back  to  bid  the  Blessed 
Virgin  good-bye — on  the  statue,  you  mind,  outside  the  door— and 
she  just  looked  at  me,  Miss  Kate,  like  you  might  do  if  I  was 
doing  wrong,  and  all  in  a  moment  I  knew  what  it  was,  glory  be 
to  God  !  It  was  the  same  as  if  she  said,  '  Thade,  you're  a  thief 
if  you  take  that  purse,  and  I'm  sorry  for  you;'  and  sure  I  would 
not  have  her  sorry  for  me,  that  is  the  joy  of  heaven,  and  shed 
more  tears  for  us  than  all  the  world  put  together,  except  her 
blessed  Son  !" 

" Thank  God,  Thade,  you  are  not  a  thief,"  replied  Kate. 
She  was  deeply  touched  by  the  boy's  simple  narrative,  and  did 
not  doubt  he  had  indeed  received  some  miraculous  grace  in  his 
hour  of  need. 

"I  will  take  the  purse  to  my  father,"  she  continued.  "  He 
will  know  best  what  to  do  with  it.  He  will  be  pleased  with 
your  honesty;  and  believe  me,  Thade,  we  will  none  of  us  ever 
reproach  you  with  what  has  happened.  It  was  an  accident;  but 
do,  dear  boy,  remember  that  the  fault  of  disobedience  would 
have  been  equally  great,  even  had  no  accident  happened.  It 
may  have  been  a  great  mercy  for  you  to  have  got  such  a  lesson, 
hard  as  it  seems,  at  the  beginning  of  your  life." 

Kate  was  no  hand  at  "  preaching,"  and  so  she  said  no  more; 
but  her  holy  life  was  the  best  sermon  she  could  have  given  to 
any  one. 

u  I  can  let  you  into  the  stable,  and  no  one  will  see  you  there 
to-night.     To-morrow  my  father  will  tell  you  what  to  do." 

Thade  complied  very  cheerfully  with  the  directions  of  his  young 
mistress.  He  knew  very  well  that  he  might  travel  far  and  wide 
before  he  would  find  such  a  home,  and  such  good  and  true 
friends. 


96  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

He  was  sobered  and  saddened,  but  he  was  sobered  and  sad- 
dened the  right  way;  not  with  the  depression  of  self-love,  but 
with  the  noble  and  invigorating  sadness  of  holy  fear. 

Before  he  lay  down  to  sleep  that  night — yes,  before  he  even 
tasted  the  good  supper  which  Kate  had  brought  him,  guessing 
that  he  had  been  fasting  all  day — he  knelt  down  and  thanked 
God  for  all  His  mercies  to  him ;  and  when  he  had  satisfied  his 
hunger,  he  said  his  Rosary  with  fervent  and  honest  devotion,  and 
made  a  resolution,  which  he  faithfully  kept,  that  /or  the  rest  of 
his  life  he  would  be  obedient  to  his  superiors,  and  more  than 
ever  devout  to  his  Mother  Mary. 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  97 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"THE  BOY'S  HONEST,    AFTER   ALL." 

An  honest  heart,  that  never  liked  a  fraud, 
Nor  gave  deceit  from  out  his  clear  blue  eye. 

"  See  what  Thade's  brought,  father  !"  exclaimed  Kate,  as  she 
entered  the  room  where  Mr.  O' Grady  sat,  looking  as  if  he  had 
never  stirred  since  morning,  for  he  was  occupied,  as  he  had  been 
then,  with  a  newspaper. 

Kate  knew  by  long  experience  that  the  straightforward  way 
was  the  best  way  with  her  hot-tempered  but  excellent  father. 

"A  purse  !     So  well  filled,  too.     Where  did  you  get  it?" 

Kate  told  him  the  story  simply,  as  Thade  had  told  her. 

"Humph!  Belongs  to  some  tourist,  I  suppose.  Well,  the 
boy's  honest,  after  all." 

"Father!" 

"  Oh,  just  like  you  women.  You  think  any  one  you  like  is 
right." 

Kate  was  too  wise  to  offer  any  contradiction.  Mr.  O' Grady 
was  looking  really  pleased,  but,  man-like,  he  would  not  give  his 
womankind  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  any  expressions  of  his  sat- 
isfaction. 

"That  young  scoundrel  has  given  trouble  enough  for  one  day, 
and  now  to  go  and  find  this  purse.  Are  you  sure  he  didn't  steal 
it?" 

"You  dear  old  dad!" 

"  Wrant  to  get  at  the  soft  side  of  me,  eh?  I  see.  I  suppose 
you've  cried  over  that  boy,  and  killed  the  fatted  calf  for  him. 


98  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK; 

Shouldn't  wonder  if  you  had  a  hot  supper  dressed  for  him  on 
purpose.' ' 

"  I  gave  him  some  bread  and  milk,  and  told  him  to  go  and 
sleep  in  the  stable,  and  that  you  would  see  him  in  the  morning." 

"Did  you  tell  him  I  would  see  him  with  a  horse-whip  ?  No, 
of  course  you  didn't.     I  have  a  great  mind  to — " 

But  what  Mr.  O' Grady's  mind  was  inclined  to,  remains  un- 
known. 

"Hallo,  Tom,  here's  that  boy  of  yours  come  home  with  a 
purse  of  gold  that  he's  found  or  stolen." 

"Faith,  sir,  I  wish  I'd  find  one." 

Tom  was  always  short  of  cash.  Was  there  ever  a  boy  yet  who 
had  all  he  desired  ? 

"  I  suppose,  now,  I  must  go  to  the  police,  and  go  round  to  all 
the  hotels  and  give  notice,  or  we'll  have  that  boy  taken  up  and 
put  in  jail  on  suspicion,  if  any  one  finds  out  what  he's  got." 

"Can't  you  write,  father?" 

Kate  had  been  occupying  herself  during  this  conversation  in 
providing  pens  and  paper;  but  Mr.  O' Grady  would  not  con- 
descend to  notice  her. 

Men  have  their  grievances,  as  well  as  women ;  and  we  must  do 
them  the  justice  to  say  that  when  they  have,  they  generally  do 
their  best  to  make  them  known. 

A  note  was  presently  dispatched  to  the  police  and  to  the 
hotels,  Mr.  O'Grady  insisting  on  writing  all  himself,  though  Tom 
and  Kate  were  quite  willing  to  help  him.  But  if  he  permitted 
them,  how  could  he  make  himself  out  a  martyr  to  Thade's  sins 
"  and  vicious  propensity  for  finding  purses  "? 

Mr.  O' Grady  wrote  to  the  police,  and  the  writing  ran  thus: 

"Sir: — A  lad  in  my  employment  has  found  a  purse  in  the 
Catholic  Church,  late  last  night.  It  is  at  present  in  my  posses- 
sion, and  will  be  restored  to  the  owner  on  his  making  personal 
application  for  it,  and  describing  purse  and  contents." 

"  There  they  are  !"  exclaimed  Tom,  as,  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, the  O'Gradys  sat  at  breakfast. 

"Who  and  where?"  inquired   Mr.   O 'Grady,  not  without  a 


OR,   HOW  THADE  BECAME  A  BANKER.  99 

slight  gleam  of  malice.     He  was  fond  of  having  a  hit  at  Tom's 
random  speeches. 

"  Who — party  unknown,  sir,  but  suspect  their  errand  is  the 
purse;  where — well,  I  should  say  at  the  hall-door  by  this  time." 

A  fact  sufficiently  patent  and  self-evident,  since  a  loud  ring  was 
heard  at  that  very  moment. 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  courteous  and  gentlemanly  host 
of  the  Lake  Hotel  was  introducing  two  American  gentlemen  "  of 
fortune  and  distinction  "  to  the  O'Grady  family. 

"We  have  ventured  to  intrude  on  you  early,  sir,"  observed  the 
elder  of  the  two  gentlemen,  who  had  just  presented  his  card,  and 
who  was  a  New  York  friend  to  whom  the  reader  has  been  already 
introduced — the  father  of  the  pretty  Rosaline. 

Mr.  O'Grady  assured  his  visitors  that  no  apology  was  neces- 
sary— tourists  were  privileged. 

A  few  minutes  served  to  convince  all   parties   that   there   had  - 
been  no  mistake,  and  that  no  fraud  or  deception  was  intended. 
Mr.  Maxwell  stated  the  amount  of  money  which  was  contained  in 
the  purse,  and  it  was  found  intact.     His  initials,  too,  were  en- 
graved on  it,  so  there  could  be  no  doubt. 

"  But  where,"  asked  his  companion,  Mr.  Hillman,  "is  the  boy 
who  has  found  this  valuable  purse  ?  He  must  be  well  rewarded 
for  his  honesty." 

Thade  was  summoned  to  the  parlor,  much  to  his  dismay ;  and, 
much  to  the  amazement  of  the  gentlemen,  he  fell  on  his  knees 
when  he  entered^  more  like  a  culprit  than  one  who  was  about  to 
receive  a  reward. 

But  the  honest ,  open  face  certainly  did  not  suggest  any  mistrust. 

"O  sir,  O  master,  if  you'll  forgive  me — " 

The  story  of  Thade 's  misadventure  was  soon  told,  and  both 
gentlemen  were  deeply  interested. 

His  appearance,  his  manner  and  his  address  were  greatly  in 
his  favor,  and  he  had  an  air  of  refinement  beyond  his  station — 
partly  the  result  of  natural  gifts,  and  partly  a  consequence  of  the 
association  with  superiors  who,  while  they  did  not  seek  to  raise 
him  above  his  position,  had  certainly  treated  him  with  more  than 
ordinary  familiarity. 


XOO  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK,* 

"Well,  my  boy,''  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  "I  am  sure  your  master 
will  forgive  you  freely.  I  will  ask  it  as  a  personal  favor  to  my- 
self; "  and,  handing  him  a  bank  note  of  some  value,  "here  is 
what  I  hope  will  help  to  set  you  up  in  an  honest  and  humble 
career,  and  I  will  send  you  a  further  remittance  from  New  York 
from  time  to  time." 

But,  to  the  surprise  of  both  gentlemen,  Thade  firmly  but  cour- 
teously refused  the  proffered  reward. 

"  Is  it  to  pay  me  for  being  honest  and  for  pleasing  the  Blessed 
Virgin  ?  Oh,  no,  sir.  Indeed,  I  am  grateful  to  you  both,  gen- 
tlemen," he  said,  with  the  ready  tact  of  his  nature  when  he  saw 
that  his  refusal  of  the  gift  had  given  pain;  "  but  I  could  not  take 
it.  If  the  master  will  forgive  me  and  trust  me  again — and  he  shall 
never,  never  repent  it — that  is  all  that  I'll  take  from  any  one,  and 
God  knows  it's  more  than  I  deserve." 

Thade  was  not  to  be  shaken  in  his  resolution,  and  the  two  gen- 
tlemen went  away  with  a  new  view  of  the  Irish  character,  and 
certainly  more  impressed  than  they  could  well  express. 

"  A  noble  boy,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Maxwell,  as  they  drove  back 
to  the  hotel  to  prepare  for  a  day's  pleasure. 

Mr.  Hillman  said  nothing,  but  it  was  quite  evident  that  he  was 
deeply  absorbed  in  thought  during  the  remainder  of  the  day. 


OR,    HOW   THADE   BECAME   A   BANKER. 


CHAPTER  IX, 

THADE  FINDS   NEW  FRIENDS. 

"  I  have  no  son,  Mr.  0' Grady;  my  wife  died  immediately  after 
the  birth  of  our  little  girl.  We  were  very  deeply  attached  to  one 
another,  and  I  never  even  thought  of  marrying  again." 

"  But  you  are  still  a  young  man;  you  may  change  your 
mind." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  believe  that  I  shall  not  change  my  mind,  but,  as 
you  say,  it  is  possible.  I  wish  to  adopt  Thade,  and  I  want  some 
one  who  will  have  my  interest  at  heart  in  my  business.  When 
my  girl  is  a  little  older,  I  will  travel  with  her  in  Europe  for  sev- 
eral years.  I  have  trustworthy  clerks;  but  you  know,  sir,  what  a 
difference  it  makes  to  any  business  to  have  one  whose  heart  is  de- 
voted to  your  interests,  as  well  as  his  head. ' ' 

"I  will  not  stand  in  Thade's  way  for  a  moment, "  replied 
Mr.  O'Grady.  "  He  must  be  the  person  to  decide.  He  is  quite 
old  enough.  But  you  had  better  hear  more  of  his  history  before 
you  see  him.,, 

Mr.  Maxwell  listened  with  the  attentive  consideration  of  a  man 
who  knows  the  subject  spoken  of  to  be  one  of  grave  importance. 

"And  do  you  tell  me,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  rn  amazement, 
**  that  there  are  people  in  this  country  who  will  deliberately  try  to 
buy  and  sell  a  man's  religion  in  this  way  !" 

"  It  is,  unfortunately,  too  true.  No  doubt  some  of  the  Protest- 
ants who  act  thus  think  that  they  are  influenced  by  good  mo- 
tives; but,  for  a  great  majority,  there  is  every  reason  to  believe 
that  the  whole  affair  is  a  mere  trail? c  in  souls — a  traffic  by  which 
they  benefit  their  temporal  interests,  which  is  their  only  concern. 
It  you  knew  something  of  our  people,  and  if  you  had  been,  as  I 
have  been,  an  eye-witness  of  their  courage  and  constancy  under 
trial,  you  would  at  least  believe  that  they  had  a  faith  which  taught 


102  FROM  KILLARXEY  TO   NEW  YORK; 

them  to  do  and  suffer  as  no  man  could  suffer  or  act  for  a  mere 
opinion." 

"  You  will,  perhaps,  be  surprised  to  hear  that,  though  I  do  not 
profess  your  religion  myself,  I  have  allowed  my  little  girl  to  be 
brought  up  a  Catholic,  and  that  she  is  at  present  being  educated 
in  a  convent  school." 

Mr.  O'Grady  was  surprised,  but  the  knowledge  of  this  circum- 
stance removed  what  he  felt  to  be  one  great  objection  to  parting 
with  Thade. 

He  knew  very  well  that  those  who  are  proof  against  adversity 
are  not  always  proof  against  prosperity — that  there  was  no  more 
dangerous  temptation  to  the  young  than  sudden  advancement  in 
their  wordly  prospects ;  and  much  as  he  would  desire  to  see  Thade 
advanced  in  life,  he  certainly  would  not  desire  that  this  advance- 
ment should  be  purchased  by  the  sacrifice  of  a  single  principle. 

Mr.  Maxwell's  friend  was  listening  to  this  assurance  with  an 
indifference  which  was  wholly  assumed,  to  hide  the  deepest 
feeling. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "gentlemen,  I  guess  Thade  had  better  set- 
tle the  proposal  for  himself." 

Thade  was  summoned,  looking,  certainly,  very  much  brighter 
than  on  the  preceding  day. 

"  Thade,"  said  Mr.  O'Grady,  "  here  is  an  offer  for  you.  Mr. 
Maxwell  proposes  to  take  you  back  with  him  to  New  York ;  to 
give  you  the  education  of  a  gentleman,  and  put  you  in  a  position 
which  you  can  certainly  never  expect  to  hold  in  this  country.  I 
think  I  can  promise  for  him  that  he  will  never  seek  to  interfere 
with  your  religion.  It  is  for  you  to  decide  this  important  point. 
What  do  you  say  ?" 

Thade  was  fairly  bewildered,  as  well  he  might  be.  For  a  few 
moments  he  stared  in  blank  amazement  at  the  two  gentlemen- 
Then  he  seemed  suddenly  to  realize  the  offer  that  had  been  made 
to  him.  • 

"Is  it  to  leave  you,  and  Mr.  Tom,  and  Brian  Boru,  and  Miss 
Kate?" 

Mr.  O'Grady  smiled  at  the  incongruous  collection  of  the  objects 
of  his  affection. 


OR,   HOW   THADE  BECAMF  A  BANKER.  IO3 

"Well,  something  like  it,  Thade.  I'm  afraid  I'm  rather  old 
to  travel  now,  and,  you  see,  Mr.  Maxwell  could  not  adopt  us  all." 

"  Is  it  to  go  out  of  it,  and  never  see  one  of  you  again,  sir  ?" 

"  Well,  you  might  see  some  of  us  again,  Thade.  But  this  is 
a  serious  matter." 

"  I  think  you  will  have  no  cause  to  regret  it,  if  you  come  with 
me,  Thade.  I  have  a  large  business  in  New  York,  and  I  have  no 
son  of  my  own  to  take  any  of  the  care  from  me.  I  will  have  you 
educated  as  if  you  were  my  own  child,  and  when  you  are  old 
enough,  I  will  place  you  in  a  confidential  position  in  my  bank* 
I  told  you,  boy,  that  I  believe  you  to  be  thoroughly  upright  and 
honest,  and  that  this  is  the  great  consideration  which  induces  me 
to  make  you  this  offer." 

Thade 's  eyes  were  filling  fast  with  tears.  He  began  clearly  to 
understand  the  matter.  Naturally,  he  wished  to  advance  him- 
self, and  he  was  old  enough  to  have  some  idea  of  the  importance 
and  value  of  the  offer  which  was  made  to  him.  But  his* affec- 
tions were  strong.  He  had  that  happy  disregard  of  consequences 
and  indifference  to  pecuniary  advantage  which  one  so  often  sees 
in  our  people,  and  which  one  scarcely  knows  whether  to  admire 
or  deplore. 

But  affection  seemed  destined  to  carry  the  day.  He  flung  him- 
self at  his  master's  feet  in  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  I'll  never  leave  you,  sir — never  I" 

But  Mr.  O'Grady  was  too  well  aware  of  the  consequences  in- 
volved in  this  decision  to  allow  him  to  make  it  thus.  He  asked 
the  gentlemen  to  leave  Thade  an  hour,  to  think  the  matter  over 
quietly.  With  this  request  they  willingly  complied,  and,  on 
their  return,  Thade,  following  the  advice  of  Mr.  O'Grady  and  of 
Miss  Kate,  decided  gratefully  to  accept  the  splendid  position  he 
was  offered. 

He  was  at  once  taken  away  to  procure  an  outfit;  and  when  he 
was  presented  to  his  former  master,  attired  in  his  new  clothing,  no 
one  could  deny  that,  in  appearance  at  least,  he  was  no  disgrace 
to  the  station  in  life  which  Providence  had  now  assigned  him. 


104  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK£ 


CHAPTER  X. 


TEN  YEARS  LATER. 


Oh,  Ireland,  mother  Ireland, 

My  heart  still  turn:  to  thee, 
And  longs  and  pines  with  constant  love, 

Thy  holy  shores  to  see. 

"  And  so,  my  darling,  the  wedding-day  is  fixed,  and  you  are 
going  to  my  dear  old  country,  my  own  old  Ireland." 

Something  like  a  tear  glistened  in  the  great  eye  of  the  good 
lay  sister.  Ever  since  the  time  of  St.  Colomba,  and  before  it,  a 
passionate  love  of  Ireland  has  been  the  born  heritage  of  the  Celt. 

The  heaviest  penance  that  could  be  put  upon  the  erring  saint 
was  that  he  should  never  see  Ireland  again,  and,  as  the  chroni- 
cler tells  us,  he  came  and  went  with  a  sere  cloth  over  his  eyes  and 
a  sod  of  the  land  of  Atta  under  his  feet,  so  that  when  duty 
called  him  to  his  beloved  Erin,  he  might  fulfill  his  penance — so 
that  he  might  neither  see  nor  touch  the  earth  of  his  native 
country. 

Kathleen  had  now  been  a  nun  for  some  years,  but  she  did  not 
lose  her  love  of  Ireland.  Perhaps  the  hardest  part  of  her  self- 
imposed  penance  had  been  to  renounce  all  hope  of  seeing 
motherland  again.  If  the  desire  to  do  so  still  remained,  it  only 
remained  as  a  new  source  of  penance,  sacrifice  and  love. 

She  had  chosen  the  name  of  Magdalen,  as  one  which  she  be- 
lieved specially  suitable  to  her  sorrow  and  her  love.  She  had 
sinned  much  indeed,  for  she  had  sinned  against  light  and 
knowledge  and  abundant  grace.  But  her  repentance  was  deep 
and  most  truly  sincere.     Her  history  was  known  only  to  her 


OR,    HOW  THADE   BECAME  A   BANKER.  IO$ 

superioress;  but  it  was  noticed  by  all  that  she  lived  a  life  of 
great  austerity — not  in  great  things,  this  was  not  permitted  by 
her  Holy  Rule — but  she  practiced  to  the  full  that  higher,  far  more 
difficult  austerity — the  mortification  of  every  sense,  faculty  and 
desire  in  her  daily  life ;  and  it  was  also  noticed  that  she  was 
specially  devoted  to  the  interest  of  young  girls  who  were  prepar- 
ing for  service;  that  she  had  eloquent  and  abundant  words  for 
them,  however  reticent  she  might  be  towards  others,  and  that 
she  would  entreat  them,  with  words  of  most  impressive  earnest- 
ness, to  give  good  example,  and  to  strengthen  themselves  for  their 
duties  by  frequent  attendance  at  the  sacraments,  and  to  take  care 
lest  at  any, time  they  should  be  guilty  of  the  spiritual  murder  of 
those  with  whom  they  associated,  by  giving  bad  example,  or 
prove  themselves  unworthy  of  their  glorious  heritage  of  faith. 

We  have  no  more  to  say  now  of  Sister  Mary  Magdalen,  save 
that  she  lived  long  to  do  her  work  of  reparation  and  penance,, 
and  that  she  did  it  well  and  faithfully. 

It  was  to  her  dear  child,  Rosaline,  she  spoke.  Rosaline,  whom 
she  loved  as  tenderly  as  ever  mother  loved  child,  and  with  an 
affection  little  less  than  maternal. 

"  Mr.  O'Halloran  is  worthy  of  your  choice,  and  I  thank  God 
that  you  are  to  be  united  to  one  of  your  own  faith  and  one  of  my 
country." 

"It  is  a  great  happiness,  at  least,"  replied  gentle  Rosaline* 
"  that  every  one  is  so  pleased." 

The  dear  child,  for  she  was  still  little  more,  had  given  the 
affections  of  her  young  heart  to  Thade.  Her  aristocratic  family 
had  chaffed  her  not  a  little  upon  her  choice.  He  was  "  Irish" 
and  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  no  one  knew  anything  about  his 
family,  though,  in  truth,  his  descent  might  have  been  traced  up 
to  a  higher  rank  than  that  of  any  of  his  despisers,  however  hum- 
ble the  circumstances  of  his  birth  had  been ;  and  the  position  in 
Mr.  Maxwell's  bank,  to  which  he  had  been  raised  by  his  honesty 
and  his  talent,  could  not  fail  to  command  respect  in  a  country 
where  business  ability  is  held  in  special  honor,  and  where  intel- 
lect takes  rank  as  nature's  patent  of  nobility. 


106  FROM  KILLARNEY  TO  NEW  YORK. 

"  But  I  have  news  for  you,  sister,"  said  Rosaline,,  when  all 
particulars  of  the  wedding  and  the  wedding  tour  had  been  fully 
discussed.  "  You  know  we  have  not  seen  papa's  old  friend,  Mr. 
Hillman,  since  he  was  ordained  deacon.  We  heard  from  him  to- 
day, and  he  sent  me  this,"  she  said,  producing  an  exquisitely- 
bound  missal,  his  wedding  gift.  "  He  is  to  be  ordained  priest 
the  Sunday  after  my  wedding  day." 

Sister  Mary  Magdalen  ejaculated  a  heart-felt  "  Thank  God," 
and  well  she  might. 

And  all  this  came  of  Tim  O'Halloran's  choice. 

Thade's  conduct,  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  introduction  to  his 
patron,  so  soon  to  be  his  father-in-law,  had  made  a  very  deep 
impression  on  this  gentleman.  He  said  very  little;  in  fact,  he 
affected  to  treat  the  whole  affair  with  good-natured  contempt; 
but  he  reflected  none  the  less  deeply.  He  felt  that  there  must  be 
something  in  a  faith  which  could  lead  a  boy  to  such  practical 
honesty  from  such  high  motives.  He  learned  that  the  Irish, 
even  when  uneducated,  were  a  people  of  great  natural  ability; 
that  they  were  very  far  from  deserving  the  contempt  which  the 
ignorant  too  often  bestowed  on  them.  Several  years'  experience 
of  Thade — his  steadiness  in  business,  his  admirable  conduct  in 
prosperity,  his  quiet,  patient  religion — each  and  all  made  a  deep 
and  blessed  impression. 

Then  Mr.  Hillman  began  to  ask  himself  what  he  was  living  for, 
and  what  was  his  life  likely  to  be  worth  hereafter.  He  had  in- 
dependent means;  he  could  choose,  without  let  or  hindrance,  his 
own  future  career;  and  having  been  received  into  the  Holy  Catho- 
lic Church,  he  chose  the  humble,  lowly,  laborious,  self-denying 
life  of  a  Catholic  priest. 

Little  did  the  good  farmer,  whose  death-bed  scene  forms  the 
opening  chapter  of  our  tale,  ever  imagine  the  many  happy  results 
which  would  follow  from  his  glorious  fidelity  to  his  faith.  Little 
did  he  imagine  how  God  would  reward,  and  how  many  would 
live  to  bless 

Tim.  O'Halloran's  Choice. 


v 


OF 


RARE  OLD  IRISH  BOOKS  N\ 

COLLECTED  BY 

JOHN  GRAHAM,  Proprietor 
THE  ISISH  VINDICATES     v 


&P. 


and 


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P>.i##vf  J3W 


